


Silence

by InfiniteInMystery



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Forced Drinking, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Leon Needs A Hug, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, No Beta We Die A Mistake, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Plagas, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Slow Romance, don't be surprised if this ends with a murder, supportive friends, these tags are all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteInMystery/pseuds/InfiniteInMystery
Summary: Leon's been miserably drinking his days away when something unexpectedly goes wrong. Horribly wrong.He needs to tell them. He needs to explain the situation before there's another apocalypse, before someone he cares about dies. He needs to turn himself in, needs to nip this in the bud before it can get worse.But he can't.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Jack Krauser
Comments: 63
Kudos: 148





	1. Sometimes When It Rains, There's An Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris, fresh off a mission, receives a concerning phone call from his sister. Claire's doing fine; it's Leon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing the Detention Assignment for NaNo so I decided to write another. The first few chapters are pretty slow plot-wise, I'm taking my time and exploring with this one, I guess. The build-up might take forever, but it's the same awful tags as usual.
> 
> Also, this is mostly canon-compliant, except their ages are a bit younger because I didn't realize Capcom aged everyone so fast, and also. Piers Nivans. Because that canon plot-point is dead to me. Also. I guess this isn't really canon-compliant because two dead bad guys aren't dead anymore. I guess what I meant to say is that this is loosely canon-compliant. Actually. Who even needs canon at this point.
> 
> I am aiming to update on Sundays. Ish.

_Welcome home, Chris._

Thunder cracked loudly through the heavy patter of rain only seconds after lightning illuminated the entire night sky. The flash of light was so bright and so familiar, the sound of thunder so sudden and so explosive, that Chris almost swerved his Jeep over to the side of the highway like it were a grenade. With an exhausted scowl, Chris only flinched, managed to keep the vehicle in complete control. He flicked his windshield wipers onto their fastest speed so he could see better before turning up the floor heat, warming himself and reminding himself that he was home, he was going home, and tomorrow he wouldn't be so sensitive and wary to the civilian world around him. The first twenty-four hours back from an op were always the worst, attention on high alert and senses frazzled and leery.

No matter how many years Chris had been doing this, perhaps it was a good thing he never truly got used to it.

It had only been six hours since Chris' plane had landed back on US soil, and the storm in the city had gone from bad to downright miserable. Several of those rainy hours had been spent at the airport, another few with Piers Nivans at their local office, trying to smash out keywords and certain details from the op before they could forget them forever. They were too tired and _alert_ to write a proper report, so several sheets of sporadically written key phrases and details would have to do until they were calm enough to make sense of it.

Six hours fresh off a mission – because the job was never really done until Chris was back on that plane going home – and the high was suddenly starting to crash down around him, leaving him beyond exhausted and drained. Chris had driven Nivans home to his apartment on the other side of the city, and now here he was, heading home to his own.

It was then, with the rain pattering noisily against the Jeep's window like bullets, the thunder rumbling in the background like grenades going off, lightning flashing like fire and flash-bangs. It was then, three exits from his own, that Chris' phone began to ring. He didn't think anything of it, didn't think to check the caller ID because the only person who would call him in the middle of the night after an op was either his sister or his boss. And seeing how Claire was away for business still, in India for another few days, that left his boss. He jammed his finger into the blue-tooth comm still in his ear, answering the call by the second ring without even thinking twice about it.

“Chris Redfield.” He said, hoping that the exhaustion and annoyance came through in his tone. Upper management was always like this, always calling too soon to get the juicy details, asking too many questions too fast, and too specific. Chris just wanted to go home and take a shower and lay down and _sleep._ None of his men had died, thank God, and there hadn't been any BOW's. Why couldn't he just get a break right now?

“Chris.” Surprisingly, it was Claire. A smile lit up on Chris' face, mouth opening to greet her before Claire suddenly started to talk, her voice sounding a touch panicked. “Chris, are you in the city? Did you land already?”

“Yeah, why?” Chris asked, eyebrows furrowing. His excitement was instantly gone, replaced with concern. “Are you okay?”

“It's Leon.” Claire said, her voice sounding a touch desperate. “I need you to go over there and check on him. He's not alright.”

“Define 'not alright'.” Chris asked.

“He's bad.” Claire said, a touch of worry in her tone. “He's really bad right now, Chris. I need you to go. Please? I need to call him back-”

“I'll call him for you. And I'll go.” Chris said. He'd never say no to his little sister. “I can take care of him. You know I'd never say no to something like this, Claire.”

“Thank-you, thank-you so much.” Claire said, and her tone was what really got Chris nervous. “Call me when you get there, please. Make sure he's alright. Please! _Call me!_ I swear to God Chris if you forget-”

“Don't worry about it, I'll be there and I'll call.” Chris said. This wasn't the first time Claire had expressed worry for the other man, but this was the first time Claire had asked Chris to go over. It must have been bad. Very bad. Chris wasn't familiar with Leon's ticks and grievances, but he knew his sister.

Hanging up, Chris let his eyes briefly glance down to his phone as he searched his contacts for the solo-agent. They had exchanged numbers before, were on relatively good terms. Leon didn't call or message usually, but he would respond if Chris did. Chris hit the call button, expecting the call to go straight to voice mail like his calls usually did. Leon was a very, _very_ busy man after all, and when he wasn't busy, he also wasn't social, doing whatever it was that classified solo-agents did.

The line rung. It rang enough times that Chris was worried Leon wasn't going to answer. He almost hung up when the call suddenly connected.

“Chris.” Leon was breathless.

Well, colour Chris surprised, Leon actually answered. Chris grinned, turning his blinker on to merge off the highway, trying not to focus immediately on the hysterical breathing coming in from the other end of the line. “Leon! Long time no chat.”

There was suddenly a harrowing silence on Leon's end, a hesitant pause long enough that Chris wondered if he had been disconnected by accident, or if Leon had simply hung up. Suddenly, the smile on Chris' lips turned into a frown. As Chris followed the road into the city, he couldn't help the hot fear that flashed through him. It seemed like his sister had been right. Something was terribly amiss.

“Leon, you there?” Chris asked, his tone giving away his concern immediately. His voice accidentally came out more commanding than he intended, used to taking control when his men were falling apart around him. “Don't hang up on me, follow through. You already answered and I'm not going anywhere.”

Leon chuckled shakily, his voice coming out weak on the other end of the line. He was out of breath, his panting uncontrolled. “I… I called Claire… but she's...”

“Yeah, she's away. Classified.” Chris said, his eyebrows furrowing as he slowed for a red light. He glanced up through the rain heavily pattering against the windshield, the red light bright and blinding in the darkness like the eye of a BOW. He suddenly remembered how hard the first twenty-four hours back could be, remembered that a _certain someone_ always came out on top by the skin of his teeth despite being under-prepared. And maybe, just maybe, he was under-prepared for the first twenty-four too. Maybe, he was under-prepared for everything.

“Leon… are you okay?” Chris asked, trying not to sound like he was prying but also trying to sound concerned enough to prompt Leon into responding truthfully. Chris didn't know what the situation was because Claire hadn't elaborated, but he had heard some things from his sister before. Had heard some of her concerns for the other man. Claire was the closest thing to a best friend Leon had, but Leon seemed intent on keeping his distance from everyone. _He's drowning,_ Claire had said once. _One day he might just let himself sink._

Leon scoffed at the question. He cleared his throat just as the light turned green, Chris' Jeep rolling forward. The silence stretched between them, nothing but wheezing coming in from the line, but by some miracle, Leon was still talking to him and it sounded like he was slowly getting control over his breath.

Leon's voice broke on the last syllable. “I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine.” Chris said, driving past his own street and heading further into the city. “You sound the opposite of fine actually, and Claire wouldn't send me over there unless it's an emergency which tells me something's up and it's probably not good.”

“I guess so.” Leon said, and no, he definitely _wasn't_ okay. His voice was wet and shuddering, coming out faster. “I guess I just… I...”

“I'm coming over.” Chris said suddenly. He knew his way to Leon's place, had been there more than enough times already to collect Leon for some of Claire's outings. She had insisted that they needed to go out and 'be normal people' when they all happened to be home. The little things, she said. The little life memories they needed with a job as dangerous as this, the contact and friendship to keep them all sane.

Leon laughed again, a broken wet sound, but he didn't respond.

“Yeah, give me ten minutes and I'll be there.” Chris said. He had a sinking suspicion, and while he and Leon weren't besties or anything like that, they were stable enough in each other's lives since Raccoon city to be considered close. “Do you work tomorrow?”

Leon laughed again, sounding sad. “Never know.”

Chris clicked his tongue, changing lanes, trying to remember the fastest route there. There was a shortcut, wasn't there? He almost pulled out his Nav to check before remembering that he was _driving_. “You need a vacation, dude.”

There was a pause in the conversation, a wet sound coming from Leon's end until he chuckled weakly. “Did you just call me dude?”

“I did, dude.” Chris said, chuckling. “What's up?”

“You don't have to come here.” Leon said, sounding hesitant, his breath still stuttering. “Claire just...”

“Well, you're getting me anyway.” Chris said, almost missing the street. He made a sudden left turn, eyes flickering to his rear-view to make sure no one was behind him. He was glad there was no one around at this time of night. “When was your last op?”

Leon didn't answer until Chris pulled up in front of his apartment complex. Leaning across to his passenger seat, Chris grabbed his carry-on with everything he might need, before grabbing his phone and getting out of his car. He was instantly soaked once again, the thunder and lightning shaking the sky.

Leon inhaled unsteadily. “Tall Oaks.”

 _Not the first twenty-four, then._ It had been a month and a half since they had all gotten back from China, which meant this could be Simmons related. PTSD? Chris didn't respond because he didn't have enough information to make an educated assumption, rushing to the front door of the apartment before slipping into the warm, dry lobby. He scuffed his boots into the mat in a feeble attempt to dry his soles. The second he was out of the rain, he informed Leon he had arrived.

“I'm downstairs. I'm hitting the buzzer. If you don't let me in, I'll find another way, trust me.” Chris said, keeping his tone upbeat. Leon's breathing was easing out, returning back to normal.

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Leon said quietly. There had been a chance for a quip, a _well let's see how you get in, then, Redfield,_ or something along those lines.

But Leon's voice had been careful. Apprehensive.

The front door buzzed and unlocked, letting Chris pass. Security features like these were a piece of cake to get around these days, but at home, in the city, Chris still respected the formality of them. They were quiet on the phone, companionably so, until Chris got to the fifth floor where Leon lived, trudging down the hallway. At least he wasn't leaving wet shoe prints anymore and at least there hadn't been anyone in the hallways to see him coming, Nine-oh-nine and his Combat knife strapped to his thighs. His Assault Rifle was still in his Jeep, and he really hoped he wouldn't need it.

“I'm at your door.” Chris said as he strode the last few feet. Leon lived in a corner unit, closest to the stairwell, right in the alley. Chris knew the location had been strategic.

“It's open.”

True to his word, the door was unlocked. Chris tried not to think about it as he popped the door open and stepped into the dark minimalist apartment, not a single light on, instantly spotting Leon's figure basked in a sliver of moonlight on the floor. He was crumpled by the couch with the hood of his sweater drawn up, his breath shallow and loud in the small space. Chris hung up his phone just as Leon did, eyes landing on Leon in cold worry. Locking the door behind him, Chris kicked off his boots before flicking on the living room light. Leon ducked into the couch cushions, eyes closed from the sudden brightness, his breath catching.

“Hey, I thought you said you were okay.” Chris said as he quickly approached. He dropped down onto the carpet beside Leon, leaning back against the couch casually. If this was more than just a panic attack, Claire would have called the man an ambulance instead of Chris. He looked Leon over, never expecting to ever see the agent this vulnerable. He could only see a strip of Leon's face, the rest of him hidden by his sweater hood, nose and mouth buried in his arms. Chris tried to ignore the empty bottles of whiskey on the coffee table, could smell it in the room and on Leon, knew what it was like to hit rock bottom. The alcohol was a discussion for later, or hell, a discussion for Claire if Leon wouldn't open up to him.

Softer, like Chris didn't want to shattered glass, “No wonder Claire called me so worried.”

“Sorry.” Leon managed unapologetic, eyes shifting up. His breath wasn't as heavy as earlier, like the contact between Claire and now Chris was finally helping him.

“Nah, don't apologize. I get it.” Chris said, ignoring the tone Leon had used. “You should sit up straighter, get better airflow. Do you want some water?”

“No.” The sharp response came instantly, Leon's breaths stuttering for a moment. His eyes slid away from Chris, miserably looking at the back of the couch instead. “I mean...”

“Hey, it's fine.” Chris said. There was no rush and whatever this was, Chris was glad Leon wasn't going through it alone. Possibly _again_. “You sound better than when I first called you. How long ago did this start?”

Leon didn't answer, didn't move, his head turned evasively away. The rise and fall of his chest became quicker after a moment of contemplation, telling Chris he had asked the wrong question.

“Did you eat?” Chris asked, changing the subject immediately.

“When? Isn't it past midnight?” Leon asked, his breaths still shuddering but not wheezing. If Chris didn't know any better, he might think he was actually helping. Likely, Leon's stubbornness was smothering the attack, trying to end it so Chris couldn't see him like this any longer than necessary. As long as the job got done, Chris supposed.

“Last night. Before you went to bed?” Chris asked. “You went to bed, right? It's one in the morning, dude. You've slept, right?”

A chuckle stuttered out of Leon and Chris wondered what was so funny. “Where did you pick up the word dude?”

“Dude?” Chris asked, laughing even though Leon had dodged both the eating and sleeping questions. “I have a new team member. He uses the word _dude_ ironically and it drives Nivans up the wall. I've never seen the kid so worked up before.”

“Ironically?” Leon asked. He finally turned his head back to Chris, eyes red-rimmed and wet. He had been crying, and once again, Chris could relate. “How do you ironically use the word dude?”

“It's not important.” Chris deflected, chuckling. “What's important is that I can still learn new tricks. You know the saying, _the old dog can't learn new tricks._ So I guess this means I'm not considered old yet.”

Leon laughed at that, his breath easing into something more steady. “The old dog _can_ learn new tricks, he just probably doesn't want to. It takes too much effort at this age and he can get away with defiance.”

Chris chuckled. “I mean, you're probably not wrong. If O'Brian came down to my office and ordered me to suddenly learn quantum physics, I'd probably fail the classes on purpose. But something I could use practically out in the field? Like? I don't know, _train mechanics,_ you never know when that might come in handy.”

Leon chuckled, but his eyes suddenly slid away, lids falling as his eyebrows began to crease again. It looked like a thought was dragging him away from the present and back into his head where he shouldn't be. If the empty bottles of whiskey on the coffee table and the kitchen counters had anything to say, it was that Leon had been in need of help for quite some time. It was a miracle he was still functional. It was a miracle that whatever this was hadn't impacted his work yet.

Chris just wondered what finally pushed him over the edge.

“Hey?” Chris called, trying to drag the agent out of his head. He probably should stop talking about work, but he didn't know what else to talk about. Did they have anything in common except fighting BOW's and once upon a time, drowning in liquor? Chris didn't know, but he would make an effort to know. Chris himself didn't really have friends outside of work, but from what Chris had heard from Claire, Leon didn't seem to have friends _at_ work either. He didn't have partners, didn't have a team, wasn't in contact with any family. It was just him and his handler and anyone who happened to come across him on the field.

Leon glanced over at the prompt, eyes heavy. His breathing was even again, pure misery taking over his face instead. He looked tired and weary. Defeated.

“Do you want to come with me back to my place?” Chris asked. He frowned, reaching over and gently placing his hand on Leon's arm, hoping he wasn't breaching an unspoken rule, hoping the contact wouldn't set him off. Leon's eyes glanced down to Chris' hand before flickering back up to Chris' face in question. He didn't ask, but Chris felt the need to explain anyway.

“I've been here.” Chris said simply, hoping that his next words wouldn't spook the other agent into pulling away. “And I know my sister has too. It comes with the job and everything that we've been through. And sometimes it's easier to deal with it in a different environment. Like looking at it from a new angle. You're free to leave whenever, but maybe a change of scenery might help?”

“Avoidance causes problems too.” Leon said softly, but he didn't look away from Chris. “Sounds like something Claire told me once.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, I might have learned that one from her. You know, having a sister in Relief is almost like having a back-up therapist. Sometimes she just suggests weird things that _work._ And sometimes it's scary because it's like she can read my mind.”

Leon made an amused noise. He shifted against the couch, sitting up and pulling his arm from beneath Chris' hand. He pulled off his hood, hair mussed and greasy from lack of personal hygiene. Chris took his hand back, eyes suddenly catching on Leon's face. Chris tried not to stare, he really did, but Leon's lip was busted on the right side, blood-smeared beneath his right nostril from hiding his face in his arms. His skin was discoloring like he had been recently hit right in the mouth. There were bruises alone his jaw and what Chris could see of his throat, an angry shade of red starting to turn purple.

Whatever had happened, it had been recent. _Very_ recent.

“Claire's like that. She always knows what's up and how to fix it.” Leon said almost affectionately, his words jarring to the concern running through Chris' head. Chris caught up to what was being said, suddenly realizing that yes, yes Claire did _know._ Somehow, she had known Leon was _bad._ Chris was used to field-related injuries. A broken arm. A sprained wrist. A projectile that had embedded itself into his thigh and become infected. But as Leon got up shakily from the floor, huffing out a breath before steadily inhaling for the first time since Chris had called him, Chris realized these injuries were _human_. Leon hadn't been on an op since China. He had been here, in the city, going to work every day and doing the less dangerous part of their jobs. There was no reason for bruises, no reasons for bloody noses and busted lips. Belatedly, Chris realized he had taken too long to respond, because Leon was standing in the middle of the room, glancing over his shoulder at Chris.

“What?” Chris asked. He suddenly stood up, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, what?”

“Are you lost in that big, empty head of yours?” Leon asked, sass sneaking into his tone as he poked fun. But he was staring at Chris like he suspected Chris might know something. He suddenly looked hesitant like he didn't want to come.

“I'm not _lost_ , I'm just...” Chris huffed, rolling his eyes. “Just go pack a bag. Let's get you out of here. If not for your own sake, for Claire's.”

“Right. Give me a minute.” Leon said, his tone unsure. He hesitated, eyes still on Chris before deciding for himself what he wanted. He stepped into the darkness of the hallway, leaving Chris alone with his thoughts in the living room.

Sighing, Chris pulled out his phone, not surprised to see a missed call from his sister and three text messages. Smiling, Chris opened the messages, already knowing what to expect. Neither of them had much for patience.

_[Claire: Did you get there? Is he okay?]_

_[Claire: Are you okay? Did you make it?]_

_[Claire: Okay. I get it. You're probably helping him and I need to just chillax and wait a minute. Okay, totally good Chris, don't complain I'm being paranoid because you're way more paranoid than I am. Please call or message me back when you can, I just have a really bad feeling. He calls but never like this and I'd rather be safe than sorry with him.]_

_I'd rather be safe than sorry with him._ Chris narrowed his eyes at the message before quickly typing one back out. He didn't know what Claire was alluding to, but if he was bringing the agent home, he needed to know.

_[Chris: I got him, he's better now. Taking him home with me. He looks a little beat up. Anything I should know?]_

Chris sent the message and wasn't surprised when Claire instantly sent one back like she was hovering over her phone.

_[Claire: Has he been drinking?]_

Chris glanced around at all the bottles that were hopefully months old and not weeks, wondering how to word the admittance, but Leon interrupted him first.

“Chris-” Leon slid along the hallway wall, a panic attack in full force. His voice was wet and desperate breath wheezing. His eyes were wide and his legs shook violently as he stumbled out of his room, face pale. The hand on the wall was shaking violently. He didn't have anything with him, had gone in and come back out in a panic.

Chris was across the room in the next second, Claire forgotten.

“Hey, I'm going to reach for you.” Chris warned so Leon didn't mistake his approach for an attack and respond accordingly. “You're okay, take a deep breath.”

Chris' hands firmly grasped Leon's shoulders just as the man went down without warning. Chris guided his fall against the wall, slipping into what he called Work Mode. Leon's breath was stuttering as Chris maneuvered him against the wall, body shivering violently like he was freezing. Chris grabbed Leon's nearest wrist, noting that the man's hands were, in fact, ice-cold. He slid two fingers over Leon's pulse-point, his heartbeat so frantic that Chris doubted he'd be able to count accurately.

“Hey man, breathe. You need to relax a little. Even just a smidge.” Chris said, using the same voice he used with Claire whenever she called him like this. He knew Claire always called Leon if she couldn't get ahold of Chris first, so Chris wanted to return the favor. If Leon couldn't get ahold of Claire, who did he call?

Chris didn't think he'd like the answer.

“Leon, _breathe_.” Chris tried again, holding onto Leon's wrist when Leon suddenly grabbed for the lapels of Chris' jacket. He switched into his commanding voice, if only to distance himself from what was happening beneath him. “What happened in there?”

Leon made a choking sound, head-turning away. He was clutching desperately to Chris' jacket with one hand, the other bunching up the fabric of his sweater over his own chest. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get his control back, body vibrating beneath Chris' hands. He was trying to say something, but his words weren't leaving his mouth coherently.

“Okay, deep breaths. I'll just talk to you, okay?” Chris said, thoughts flying off, trying to remember what Claire had done for him.

 _Has he been drinking?_ Chris suddenly wondered if this was more than just alcohol. If Leon was dipping into something else because the alcohol wasn't working anymore. Ignoring the cold feeling in his chest, Chris started to talk about the first non-stressful thing that came to his head.

“Did you know we had a family dog?” Chris asked.

He caught Leon's attention, a confused glance snapping over to Chris. Leon shook his head, throat hollowing on his breath but entertaining Chris' topic of choice.

“We had a family dog when we were kids. We named him Blue. He was a border collie and he used to knock Claire down all the time because he, I don't know, saw her as another dog and he didn't really like her? Not really sure. He didn't mind me, but Claire? Dear God.” Chris said, wracking his brain for anything and everything to say, anything to get Leon's mind off his inner thoughts. “She used to crawl around and bark at him and pretend she was a dog too. Steal his toys and food. I even caught her drinking out of his water bowl once like a dog herself. No wonder he was confused.”

Leon made a sound to indicate he was listening, his breathing evening out ever so slightly. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, making an effort to reign himself in. Good.

“There really isn't a point to this story except that he was old. Our mother didn't like him, but she allowed our Dad to keep him _because_ he was old.” Chris said. “He was old and grumpy, kinda like someone I know.”

Leon glanced up with tired eyes. His breath was easing, looked like he wanted to ask something.

“When he passed away, I bought Claire a little stuffed dog that looked just like him, but she hated it.” Chris said. He laughed. “She kept it, but I knew she hated it because she missed Blue instead. But then our neighbor got a dog. A little, ugly, _thing_ , and Claire fell in love all over again. So I guess the only point of this story is that even if Claire hates your gifts, she'll keep them through thick and thin and you'll never truly know if she hates them or not. You just get a sort of, a _suspicion_ that she hates it.”

Leon chuckled a hand going to his face. “She's like that.”

“Yeah.” Chris said. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Yeah.” Leon said. He cracked a weak smile, his breath coming back. “Got her… I got her a little plush police bear after Raccoon, before she left to find you. I didn't know how to thank her for her help. She said thanks, but I could tell she didn't really like it.”

“What colour was it?” Chris asked.

“Brown? It was normal looking.” Leon said, unsure. He chuckled. “Her face didn't change when I gave it to her, so I knew right then and there that she didn't like it.”

“With the little handgun drawn on its belt? And it's big enough for her to hold in both hands?” Chris asked, thinking back to the bear plush Claire had sitting on her dresser right beside Blue.

Leon glanced at him, face scrunched in suspicion, but he cracked a tiny smile. “You saw it?”

“She still has it.” Chris laughed. “Right beside old Blue.”

Leon laughed, his breath stuttering minimally. “She hates it.”

“Probably.” Chris said, trying to keep his smile in place. “You good now?”

Leon sighed, sliding his hands down his face. He inhaled deeply before huffing out a steady breath. “Yeah… yeah. I think I'm good.”

“Do you want me to get the bag for you?” Chris asked.

Leon glanced up, his eyes glassy and unsure. He hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder and down the hall before swallowing nervously. Well, that was a bad sign. After a moment, he tore his eyes away and back to Chris without looking up at him. The action made Chris' heart quicken.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I'll be back in a minute then.” Chris said. He stood up, heading down the hall and into the bedroom, worrying about what he might see.

The bedroom didn't give him any insight. Chris flipped on the light, expecting to see, well, _something_ , but he didn't see a single thing that screamed _this caused a panic attack twice!_ Leon's entire bedroom was in disarray, half his wardrobe sitting on his floor like he had spent multiple nights just kicking his clothes off and stumbling into bed. Chris recognized this behavior, had succumbed to it himself. Considering Leon's training in both Police and the Military, this screamed late nights with liquor. His bed sheets were all over the place, clearly slept and moved in. Tossing and turning perhaps. Nightmares. Chris could relate. He'd gone through a similar phase too.

Chris' eyes lingered over a giant wet spot high on the bed, colorlessly seeping into the dark blankets and disappearing under the mussed pillows. Curiously, Chris stepped closer to get a better look at it, wondering if it was just something embarrassing or a clue. It was a weird spot to be wet and suspiciously, half the bed was covered in it. So he reached out for the pillow that was saturated, leaning in to smell it, worried about what he might discover.

It had a scent, so it wasn't water. Its smell was familiar, but nameless. Chris dropped the pillow, eyes furrowed. _Strange._

Without an explanation or even an idea of what could have happened, Chris ignored it. Simply opened Leon's closet and dug out a black bag with red straps that he recognized, because Chris had the same exact bag back at home.

Unsure of how long Leon was going to be staying with him, Chris rooted through his dresser before giving the bedroom one last glance and leaving. Fresh clothes might do the agent some good after a shower. He flipped the light off before stopping in front of said agent who hadn't left the floor. Leon's knees were pulled up, elbows resting on them and his head in his hands, pushing hair away from his face.

“You want to go grab your toothbrush?” Chris asked.

Leon inhaled deeply through his nose, shaking his head immediately. Chris didn't think anything of it.

Leon's bathroom was clean. It was probably the cleanest room in the entire apartment. Chris plucked the toothbrush and some deodorant off the counter before rooting through the cupboards, not sure what he was looking for, but looking anyway. He glanced over the sink and counter, nothing out of place, nothing to suggest what could have happened. Chris straightened with a sigh, deciding to finally message Claire back about Leon's obvious drinking habits. He took a deep breath before just giving her to cold, honest truth.

_[Chris: Yeah, he's drinking. Lots. Something isn't right.]_

In the back of his head, Chris wondered about the wet spot again. Wondered if he should ask, knew if the agent had any pride or something to hide, he would just excuse it. _He'll just tell me he spilled water._

When Chris was done, he straightened and went back into the hallway.

“Where'd you get this bag?” Chris asked, his tone upbeat again, already suspecting he knew the answer.

From the floor, Leon glanced up, his eyes tired and making him look older than thirty. He swallowed before clearing his throat, searching Chris' face like he was looking for something. His answer was bland. “You're sister gave it to me for Christmas one year.”

Chris chuckled. “She sure skimped on shopping that year, cause I got one too.”

Leon chuckled, shakily getting up from the floor. He stood on his own two feet, breath heavy and balance wavering. But when he glanced up, he looked like nothing more than a hollow shell. He looked like he could use a day in bed, watching nothing but movies and eating soup.

“Do you want to go? You look ready to be anywhere but here.” Chris asked. He hoisted the bag higher on his shoulder, watching the way Leon quickly nodded. He was eager to leave. Chris was surprised Leon hadn't put up a fight about going with him, but now he was only suspicious.

_Something isn't right._

“Let's go.” Chris said. It was still raining, but in the wee hours of the morning, there wouldn't be much traffic, if any at all. Chris glanced over his shoulder, taking in Leon's haggard state as he suddenly veered off through the living room, slamming the open window shut. Standing there, Leon stared through the pane a second longer than strictly necessary. Like he was waiting for something.

 _What the hell happened to you?_ Chris didn't know, but the first jacket he pulled out from Leon's hallway closet was his. It was his STARS jacket, the one he had given Claire once he had started to bulk up, knowing Claire might use it in winter. Funny, that it had ended up with Leon. Smirking, Chris turned back to Leon still staring out the window, and threw the jacket at him.


	2. Don't Diagnose The First Symptom Because There's Usually More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris takes Leon home and, while Leon won't tell him what happened, Chris thinks he recognizes the signs because he's been at the bottom of a bottle too. It looks like Leon needs some help, but unfortunately Chris only sees what Leon lets him.

Chris' apartment was significantly bigger than Leon's, with three bedrooms and a much larger kitchen. Claire lived there too whenever she was back in the city, so she had her own room that was mostly disused. Chris had turned the third room into a gym/office, both Redfield's taking advantage of the extra space when they were home, and the bathroom had a fancy bathtub with jets in it. It wasn't a jacuzzi, but it was close enough.

Leon felt a little awkward, standing in the brightly lit foyer like he didn't belong. He had crashed through so many foreign emotions since he had woken up on his couch a few hours ago. So much had happened in less than an hour and a half, and he was surprised he even knew up from down right now. Chris still had his backpack, was wandering through his own apartment talking about something or other, not even realizing that Leon was still stuck at the door with his boots on.

 _I don't think I should be here. I don't think Chris is safe with me._ Going back into his bedroom to pack his bag had been a bad decision. Leon had glanced over the state of his bed before the panic had slammed back into him, reminding him that he was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. He had tried to open his mouth, to warn Chris before Chris had gone into the room after, but he hadn't been able to utter a word. He _couldn't_ utter a word. Leon had been desperate to get out of his own apartment, but now that he was here with Chris, he felt even worse. He felt like a danger. He felt like he was intentionally putting Chris in danger just by being here, and with every panicked thought flitting through his mind, his chest was starting to hurt again. His hand reached up, palm flat over his heart as his breath started to labor.

“Leon?”

Leon suddenly snapped to attention, glancing up at Chris. Chris had already seen him in tears, had already seen him lose his control. And yet only now, having Chris standing there, looking so concerned over Leon spacing out, did Leon actually feel ashamed of himself. He felt his face flush as he glanced down, somehow kicking himself back into gear and moving his limbs. He jerkily took off his wet jacket – _Chris'_ jacket, he had always assumed Claire had talked herself into a freebie – and stepped out of his boots. He moved into Chris' well-lit living room hesitantly, unsure. Chris had more furniture in his living room than Leon had in his entire apartment. It was also warmer, brighter, whereas Leon's apartment just looked bleak and cold. It was homey. It was nice.

_I'm going to ruin it._

“Hey.” Chris said like he was repeating himself. He didn't have Leon's bag anymore, was leaning against the wall to the kitchen, fixing Leon with a _look._ It looked like he had something in particular he wanted to ask but didn't know how to word it so it didn't sound offensive. His face scrunched up in the same way Claire's did when she was deciding whether or not now was the time to mention something. Leon was used to it. Unfortunately, he tended to cause a lot of concern for people.

“What is it?” Leon glanced over to him, already knowing Chris had a bit of a shorter temper than Claire, and that the Redfield's weren't known to beat around the bush or coddle people. They also had no patience, no verbal filter, and were all around Leon's type of people. Leon inhaled, waiting for the questioning to start, knowing it was bound to come sooner or later, whether it be Chris or Claire. He didn't know if he minded.

Chris seemed to consider his thoughts, before sighing heavily. “I need to ask you something, but you're probably not going to like it. But it's a regular normal question because I need to know, just in case something goes wrong, and not because I want to pry or anything.”

“Is that why you waited until we got here?” Leon asked. He paused awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if he would be turned away depending on how he answered this next question. _Did Chris see something when he went into my bedroom? Does he know something?_ Leon's thoughts suddenly wandered, his throat seizing up at the thought of what had happened only an hour before Chris had gotten there. He felt his hands go cold, a nervous tingle starting back up in her veins. _There's no evidence, there can't be._

“Leon.” Chris sighed, catching Leon's attention. “You're in your head again.”

“What?” Leon asked, glancing up. He made an effort to focus then, knew Chris wouldn't let it go if he didn't even try. Chris looked frustrated for a moment, but he wiped it off his face just as fast as it had come.

“I asked you if you've taken any drugs.” Chris said.

Leon stared at him in bewilderment for a solid moment before laughing in surprise. The sound was genuine, shocking, and it ended just as fast as it had started. Leon's smile dimmed, defeat sagging his shoulders. Drugs? He'd rather have drugs coursing through his veins. _Chris_ would rather have drugs coursing through his veins, as well as the _whole fucking country._ Once again, the vibrating chill started to intensify again, the pain in his chest burning hotter. He refrained from pressing a hand to it, inhaled slowly and evenly like that alone could ward off the panic. _Don't panic, don't panic,_ _don't-_

“I fucking wish.” Leon said. The defeat laced his tone and Chris seemed to pick up on it.

Chris chuckled, but his eyes were still wary. “How much have you been drinking?”

“Does it matter, Mr. Redfield?” Leon asked, eyes sliding up to meet Chris' gaze. Why was Chris focusing on the wrong thing? Suddenly, Leon realized no one would suspect a thing if Leon suddenly went off the deep end emotionally, because he was drowning in liquor and looked like shit, and everyone knew he was treading in the deep waters. Everyone who mattered knew he was drinking copious amounts, knew that the death of Adam Benford had hit him in ways nothing else had. That everything that had gone down in China and clearing his own name had both taken a piece of him he had never gotten back. He had already been unwell before _earlier_ had happened. He was unwell. And now he was worse. But to everyone outside, it all looked the fucking same.

No one had been reaching out before, so no one would suspect his behavior was any different now that things had _changed._

But here was Chris.

“It matters.” Chris said. His face scrunched up in thought, but he didn't elaborate.

Leon sighed, eyes turning back down to his socks. He'd always been alone, yes. At home, on missions, even with friends around him. But he'd never truly felt _alone_ until right now. Even if he wanted to tell Chris everything, he couldn't. He was bound to silence.

“But I won't pry.” Chris said after a moment. “You're probably really tired. _I'm_ really tired. You can sleep in Claire's room, I'm sure she won't mind.”

“Are you sure?” Leon asked, his tone low and dismal. He was more concerned with Chris having him over, rather than Chris letting him sleep in Claire's bedroom. He needed to stop thinking, needed to get the recent events out of his mind. He needed to plan ahead, figure out what he was going to do before _this_ spiraled out of his control, and ruined everything.

_The one time my first instinct was to get help..._

“If she does mind, I'll just wash her bedding, and then she can get over it.” Chris said casually with a laugh. “Come here.”

_Come here._

Leon froze as Chris turned around and walked away down the hallway. His heart suddenly started to pound in his chest, pain stinging with every beat. His hands trembled, throat tight. He wasn't confused, wasn't suffering from post-trauma, knew this was Chris' apartment and Chris wouldn't hurt him. But the words rung in his ears, looping even after he managed to unlock his limbs from their frozen position. _Come here. That's an order._

 _Don't think about it, don't think about it._ Cautiously, Leon followed after Chris, his feet silent on the carpet, his nerves on high alert. He doubted he would sleep, doubted he wouldn't do anything but pace. Not with the burning in his chest and the threat only he had knowledge of. _What's the big plot? The grand scheme?_

Okay. Okay, he needed to relax.

“I already threw your bag in here.” Chris said, opening a door in the hallway, his tone so upbeat like nothing was amiss. The door across the hall was open when Leon glanced over to it, the gym/office dark and dim. There were shadows everywhere, the room full of nooks and crannies. The second Chris was in his own room, Leon would be closing that door.

Chris yawned, the hour running late. “Bathroom's right next door. My room's straight at the end if you need anything in the night. Don't be scared to wake me up.”

“Okay.” Leon said quietly, lost in his thoughts. Chris was right there, standing beside him, and Chris had _no idea._ _It's okay, it's okay, you're okay-_

“Are you going to be okay?” Chris asked, hesitating to leave Leon's side.

Leon took in a deep breath. He didn't need a babysitter, and more importantly, he didn't need Chris to see him get any worse than he'd already been. He would be okay. He was still okay right now, right? If anything started to happen in the night, started to go wrong, Leon would simply leave. Would leave for Chris' sake.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Leon slipped into the room, only to escape.

Claire's bedroom was neat and tidy. Leon closed the door behind him as Chris went to do whatever it was that Chris was out there doing. The décor was neutral, all dark wood and reds. She had a small plush collection on a desk pushed into the corner, a little blue border collie and his own gift to her catching Leon's attention. He moved over to it, looking them over before smiling gently. Claire had stuck with him through thick and thin, no matter where they were in the world, or what the rumor was that they had done. Leon's fingers gently slid over to the police bear he had given Claire all those years ago, back when he had been puppy-eyed and hopeful. He missed those days, being stupidly naive, with his sights set so optimistically on the future. He wondered how his life would have turned out if Umbrella had never existed.

He set the bear back down and walked over to the bed. He wondered if he could really sleep there. He wondered if it would be okay. He wondered if he could sleep at all if the burning in his chest and his brain would shut up long enough for him to rest.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress, pain and exhaustion tingling up his tailbone. Closing his eyes, Leon leaned forward, head in his hands. He shouldn't be here. He needed to be far away from everyone he knew and cared about, he needed to turn himself in. He could become hostile at any given moment. The pain in his chest hadn't let up. It was worse when he was panicking, but it didn't go away when he was calmer. He wondered if he should try and spill the beans to Chris, if only to get some _help._ He needed it. Desperately. This was the one time he was ready to swallow his pride and _admit_ he needed help and would accept it.

But he couldn't.

With the barest hint of a shudder in his hands, Leon pulled his phone out from his sweater pocket, not surprised to see several messages from Claire.

_[Claire: Hey, did my brother make it yet? If not, call me back.]_

_[Claire: I hope you're doing better.]_

_[Claire: You know you're important to me, right? You know that even though I'm on the other side of the world, you're still my favorite person, right? You can always call, and if I'm busy, I will always call back as soon as I can.]_

_[Claire: If you need help, I can get it for you. You don't have to deal with this alone. You deserve better. Don't call me a sap, because it's true. I'm sappier than a maple tree, you know. We can make syrup.]_

Leon chuckled, a sad smile quirking the corner of his lips. Claire was too much sometimes but he welcomed it. She had practically adopted him into the little Redfield family a long time ago, and he honestly considered the Redfield's as close to family as he could get. He hadn't minded it, had welcomed it. And now he wondered where he would be without it.

Leon constructed a very simple message, because he didn't know what else to say right now. Knowing Claire, she would call Chris anyway, and Chris would tell her everything he knew.

 _But what_ _does he know?_

_[Leon: Thank-you.]_

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Leon placed a hand to his forehead. He had a headache, his hangover making itself known. He had abruptly sobered up earlier, had been running on nothing in his system but alcohol and adrenaline. His body hurt in ways it never head, the burn in his chest a constant source of anxiety. What had he done to deserve this? There had been no preamble, nothing to indicate that something like _this_ was about to happen. Leon hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Hell, he hadn't even been leaving his apartment all that much, had been spending most of his days at work or in his apartment drinking.

Maybe if he hadn't been drunk, he would have realized something was wrong when he had woken up on the couch earlier. Maybe if he had realized something was wrong, this situation wouldn't have spiraled so far out of his control so fast.

_I didn't even fight him._

When Leon laid down on the edge of the bed, the light still on, Matilda still snug against his right hip and hidden beneath his baggy sweater, he silently cried.

–

_[Claire: can you keep an eye on him?]_

Chris sighed. He would but he could only do so much. If Leon decided he wanted to go home, Chris didn't have a right to keep him. And if Leon didn't want help despite how anxious he seemed, despite the obvious distress, there was nothing Chris could really do. So after his nightly routine of checking all the locks, turning off all the lights, and checking his guns, Chris retreated to his own bedroom and laid down. He shucked off his pants in exhaustion, throwing them into the hamper, but didn't make an effort to properly change. Leon had closed the door to Claire's room, but hadn't shut off the light. Chris left his bedroom door open just enough that he could hear if Leon got up, but closed enough that if someone came in, the door would squeak. Sighing, Chris wondered what the hell he was going to do with the solo-agent.

But it was instant.

The moment Chris' head hit the pillow, he passed out. He was in desperate need of sleep, and regardless of how much Leon was worrying him, his body didn't have the energy to contemplate it. He slept easily, dreamless. Sleeping at home was always better than sleeping elsewhere.

It was refreshing and relaxing until he abruptly woke up to the sound of gagging, the morning light streaming in through his blinds. With his eyes drifting open, Chris blinked. There was another gag coming from the bathroom, as quiet as it could be. Without really giving it much thought, Chris yawned, throwing the blanket off of him and standing up from his bed.

He hobbled sleepily into the hallway, standing in the entrance to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar like Leon had been in a rush. Leon was still dressed in the same clothes from the night before, knelt before the toilet with his back to the door, quietly gagging up his insides.

Chris took in the sight before him, and then left Leon to his own privacy.

In the kitchen, Chris poured Leon a cup of water and set it on his island counter before rooting through his fridge for fresh fruit to make his morning smoothie. He fed the blender some strawberries, blueberries, and milk, before heaping in a scoop of protein powder, turning the machine on. It was loud, blaring. There was no way Leon couldn't hear him, which was Chris' way of making his presence known.

When the smoothie was finished and poured, Chris turned around just in time to see Leon emerge from the hallway, looking sickly and exhausted. Perhaps it was the shiny, pallid texture of Leon's greasy hair. Perhaps it was the bags under his eyes that looked worse than the night before, his face pale from vomiting up nothing but bile. Leon didn't look good, and Chris wondered why he had deteriorated this fast.

“I poured you some water.” Chris said, pointing at the glass. “What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

Leon cleared his throat, sitting down at the island counter. He reached for the glass and drew it closer, eyes on it. After a moment, he sighed, taking a sip. The silence settled between them almost heavily. Chris waited a prolonged minute, smoothie frozen in his hand, on its way to his lips.

Leon straight up just didn't answer him.

“A sigh isn't breakfast.” Chris said, turning back to his fridge. He pulled the door open and scrutinized its contents for a moment, sipping at his shake. It looked like Claire had stocked up on some things before she had left a week ago. “Do you want eggs?”

Leon didn't answer again, so Chris glanced over his shoulder. “Well?”

Leon was staring into his glass of water. It didn't look like he had heard a single word Chris had said, like he was lost in his head again and couldn't pull himself out. Chris sighed. What the hell was this? He closed the fridge door and rounded the island counter, sitting down beside Leon, a stool between them. He set down his smoothie, the glass clinking against the counter-top, eyes on the solo-agent. He was hiding in his clothes, nothing but fingers and his face to be seen. Something wasn't right.

Leon's gaze didn't move from his glass. His eyes were dull and tired.

“Did you sleep?” Chris asked. His voice lowered on instinct, became more gentle.

“I think I need to call in tomorrow.” Leon said instead of answering. His tone was flat, voice lacking any discerning emotion. He didn't move, didn't even blink. His hand tightened on the glass.

Chris' eyebrows narrowed. He knew Leon well enough to know that the man never skipped out on work. He _did_ need an extra day off, however. A vacation. Hell, even a stay-cation would do him some good. But for Leon to just suddenly decided he needed a day off?

“Are you feeling okay?”

“No.” Leon said, and the blatant honesty only made Chris more nervous.

Chris regarded him for a moment, watching the way Leon's eyes didn't stray from the glass. “Do want to tell me what's bothering you?”

“Yeah.” Leon said, but he didn't elaborate. He just continued to stare at the glass in his hands, eyes on his water. It was alarming. Reminded Chris of Claire when she had been younger and moodier, and Chris could only imagine what was eating away at Leon from the inside out.

Well. A _yeah_ was a good enough start for Chris. Chris' brow furrowed as he repeated his earlier question. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No.” Leon answered this time. He sighed, placing a hand to his forehead, eyes closing. He groaned, and Chris could recognize an internal war when he saw one. Whatever it was that Leon wanted to say, he couldn't figure out if he should or not. Chris could relate, but it was also frustrating for both of them. He wouldn't make any decisions on Leon's behalf without Leon's consent, that much Leon should have known.

“Okay, look, if you don't want to answer you don't have to.” Chris said. “What were you doing last night before you called my sister?”

Leon didn't move, his lips stubbornly sealed. He frowned like he was frustrated, that war reflecting on his face.

Chris sighed. “Leon, if you need help-”

“I don't need help.” Leon snapped instantly before his sudden aggression turned demure. His head dropped into both hands now. It looked like he instantly regretted those words. “Shit. Okay. Wait.”

“Leon-”

“Eggs are fine.” Leon suddenly said as he dropped his hands. He swallowed thickly, eyes still on his glass. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed. “It's… it's fine.”

Chris narrowed his eyes in scrutiny, before making the decision to move that one stool closer. Something was really _weird._ He was slow about it, watched the way Leon's eyes shifted over to watch him move like he was ready to bolt. Chris watched the way Leon shifted slightly away from him before staring back into his glass of water, fixing his attention on it. Reaching over, Chris took the glass of water and moved it away to try and drag Leon's gaze with it. Leon glanced down to his lap instead, sighing.

“Leon.” Chris said, his tone low. “I need you to talk to me.”

Leon pressed his head back into his hands, hiding his face. He was stubbornly silent, infuriating Chris beyond belief. Chris gave him a few moments of silence before Leon turned his face completely away in avoidance. Sighing himself, Chris stood up. He rounded the island counter, going back to the fridge.

“Tell you what.” Chris said, opening the door and pulling out some eggs, before spotting sausages as well. He would have to check the date, but they looked okay still. “Breakfast first. Okay?”

“Sure.” Leon said. His voice was weak. Tired. He sounded lost and at the core of it all, _sad._

“You should shower while I'm cooking. Towels are in the hallway closet.” Chris said, spinning where he stood to fix a look on Leon. Chris had never seen Leon's hair anything less than perfect and he knew the agent would feel better after some shampoo. “You'll feel better. I promise you.”

Leon only nodded as he stood up. It looked like he was glad Chris had given him an escape.

–

Chris had been _wrong._ The shower made everything worse. The full-length mirror was unavoidable, and Leon couldn't help his curiosity as he _looked._ He had only taken his shirt off, but the marks were stark black against his skin, clear as day. Chris didn't need to have any brain cells to recognize the marks spanning down Leon's hips, the hand-print clear as day, the crooks of his elbows black from the weight that had held him down, controlling him. While there was no sign of _what else_ had happened, the signs of assault were on full display, and Leon hadn't even gotten his pants off yet.

_Shit. Just don't look at it._

Shedding the rest of his clothes, Leon had to look. He couldn't _not_ look. _Shit._ There was dried blood on the inside of his thigh. Leon felt sick all over again. And this wasn't even the worst part.

Getting in the shower, the water scalding hot against his skin, Leon silently cried for the second time in less than eight hours. He took his time scrubbing his hair and his body, being unnecessarily rough as he went through his options on what he could do now, what he _should_ do about this. He didn't even know how to explain what had happened, let alone figure out what could be done.

It was an absolute mess. _He_ was an absolute mess.

Hours before he had called Claire who had inevitably called Chris to go check on him, Leon had gasped when he had awoken in the middle of the night. He abruptly sat up in the dark with quiet but quick breaths, eyes frantically blinking to try and spot the intruder he sensed was present. His right hand instantly slapped out for the nightstand beside his bed, his gun always within arm's reach during the night. His hand slapped at empty air, flopping uselessly as his eyes adjusted. His panicked brain suddenly realized that he wasn't in his bedroom, didn't have his gun anywhere near him which wasn't concerning because there also wasn't a threat nearby. Moonlight was gently shining in through his open living room window, leaving his carpet glowing an ethereal white, the empty bottles of whiskey littering his coffee table glittering seductively. The blackout curtains that were still pulled open fluttered gently in the breeze, the ruffle of them just loud enough that Leon could hear it if he concentrated. It must have woken him up.

That was it. The blinds had woken him up from a forgotten nightmare.

 _When did I fall asleep?_ Sighing heavily, Leon threw his legs over the edge of the couch and leaned his elbows onto his knees, burying his face into his hands as he exhaled his breath slowly. _Jesus, I need to get my shit together and stop drinking._ His head was pounding, the telltale sign that he was in between being drunk and hungover, the sign that he either needed to drink more or go back to sleep. He had probably fallen asleep later in the afternoon, meaning he could afford a few extra hours of shut-eye.

Choosing to be a responsible adult, for the time being, Leon refrained from cracking open a new bottle of whiskey – if he even had any left – and stood shakily from his couch, ambling into the hallway to shuffle into his bathroom. He didn't bother turning on the light, simply relieved himself and washed his hands, before wiping the sweat off his face and pushing his wet hand through his greasy hair. God, when was the last time he had showered? Hunched over, Leon let his head hang in his cold hands for a few extra moments, exhaling deeply again like he was on the brink of panic.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

He was wasting away. Drinking every chance he got, fucking up basic jobs at work now too. The paperwork was coming back every day now, what started as one sheet was now a pile. Hunnigan seemed to suspect, if not _know_ what was happening. It was only a matter of time before someone cornered him and demanded an excuse.

He straightened slowly, eyes closed and headache pounding, before ambling out of the bathroom and into his dark bedroom. He didn't bother to change – sleeping in his jeans was the least of his problems these days – and fell face-first into his bed with an exhausted sigh. Didn't even check for his gun, he was so tired. God, how long would he continue on like this? He only had another day before work expected him to come back in, his rare full weekend hitting him harder than expected. He'd drank more in the past twenty-four hours than he had all week.

Everything was going to shit. After Tall Oaks and China, they needed to find a new president and a new director for the D.S.O, and that was _after_ Leon and Helena had jumped through hoops to clear their names. The man replacing Simmons seemed to be just as sleazy and suspicious as the man he was replacing, like he was a clone, Simmons 2.0. Rumor had it that Simmons had a backup plan in case he didn't survive China, and everyone was on edge, giving Leon that _look_ like they suddenly knew something he didn't. Like this new director of security had it out for Leon too, and was just going to end up another BOW and another job poorly done.

Fuck. If only he hadn't gone to Raccoon City...

He had been steadily drinking more and more each night, and now here Leon was, realizing he had dug his hole a little too deep, a little too efficiently. He had cut out most people in his life, had successfully isolated himself from anyone who could reach out to him. Maybe he wouldn't be able to crawl back out this time. Maybe he didn't care.

 _Shit._ With his eyes closed, Leon easily drifted off again on top of his blankets, his face buried into his pillow. Sleep came easy and dreamless after liquor and self-deprecation, and before he knew it, he was drifting off into the black abyss, unconcerned about how he would spend his last day off – he would spend it drinking – and unconcerned about what had happened in the past, what would happen in the future.

It didn't matter. Nothing really matter. _Leon_ didn't matter.

At his hip, the mattress silently dipped ever so slightly.

Leon's eyes fluttered open at the odd sensation, his body refusing to move because it was drunk and wasn’t sure what was happening. Confusion gripped him for a second because _what the hell was that_ , and then suddenly there was a hand snagging into the hair on the back of his head to keep him down, fingers curled painfully tight while another hand snapped out and caught Leon's right arm as he snatched for the gun on the end table. He was straddled by a heavier man in that same moment, a grunt leaving him as his right hand was twisted painfully behind his back, his shoulder threatening to pop. He shoved his left hand under his pillow and whipped out his combat knife in the blink of an eye, stabbing for the thigh digging into his waist, but the hand in his hair left him to catch that arm faster than anticipated. He was instantly disarmed, his face pressing into the pillow so harshly he worried he would suffocate as he panted for breath.

The fight was over just as fast as it had started.

With both of his hands seized and shoved up behind his back, Leon groaned. His attacker shifted his grip, snagging both of Leon's wrists into one large hand, the other reaching up to brush away the hair covering the visible portion of Leon's face.

“Who the fuck are you?” Leon snapped, wiggling stubbornly beneath the weight as his attacker leaned down over him, the ghost of a warm breath caressing his ear. He might have been disarmed, but he could fight his way out of any hold no problem. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest, a familiar scent catching him off guard.

“Just an old friend, _comrade._ ”

Leon's blood ran cold.


	3. When Plan A Gets Way Out Of Hand, Plan R Comes Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon has a visitor, and his visitor plans to ruin the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for Graphic Depictions of:
> 
> \- Violence  
> \- Rape  
> \- Choking
> 
> This will be the worst chapter for content, I didn't hold back on details. I like to forewarn you guys, just in case. If you spot any tag updates you need, just let me know.

“Just an old friend, _comrade._ ”

Leon's blood ran cold, eyes struggling to see over his shoulder in the darkness of his bedroom. That voice, it was _him_. Leon couldn't even say the man's name, the realization stuck in his throat. This wasn't possible. This was just a really messed up nightmare, right?

With an ease that didn't seem human, Leon was wrenched over onto his back, his assailant's knees settling onto the crooks of his elbows to keep his arms pinned to the mattress. The kiss of cold steel touched his neck just under his jaw as _he_ leaned over to the side carefully, without unbalancing his knees, reaching into the dark. The lamp on the end table suddenly flicked on, a dim orange light washing over _Jack_ _Krauser_ hovering dangerously over Leon's chest.

It was unmistakably him. In the flesh. And very much alive.

 _It's just a dream, it's just a dream._ Leon inhaled sharply, eyes wide. Still just as beautifully rugged as he had been the day Leon had met him, Krauser shifted his hips to comfortably straddle Leon's ribcage, a small, amused smile gracing his lips. His hair was shaggy and fair in the dim light, the black fatigues blending in with the background like a ghost. His face was rugged, prickly stubble just as blond as his hair, and the lines in his face showed age that was never present in Leon's dreams. Never present, because this Krauser was _older_ , and this Krauser was _alive._ This Krauser wasn't just a _bad memory._

Leon's mouth finally opened, his voice more confident than he actually felt. He could remember Spain like it was yesterday – hell, he could remember _Raccoon City_ like it was yesterday too – and he could particularly remember shooting Krauser straight through the heart, point-blank. Remembered panting in the dust left behind from their fight, could remember the blood dripping from the cut on his face, mixing in with his tears as he had finally put the man down and made sure he stayed down. Krauser had been special to him. Krauser had been _someone._

“You're dead.” Leon said. He knew he sounded desperately sure, pathetically hopeful. This was just his mental state, right? He had finally drunk too much and was reaping the consequences. He was hallucinating. _Something._ Maybe that bottle of whiskey had been spiked.

Krauser laughed, a low chortle that had scared Leon back in the day, before he had gotten to know the man. The sound still rang pleasantly but dangerously, reminded Leon of both the good times and the bad. Once upon a time, he could have saved Krauser. Once upon a time, he had _loved_ him, in whatever sense of the word Krauser would have accepted. They could have been partners permanently. Leon would have joined his team without even thinking twice.

But Krauser had turned _sour_.

“I'm dead? Is that a threat or a misunderstanding?” Krauser asked, sounding amused.

“Both.” Leon said, eyebrows creasing as he tried to come to terms with the fact that this was _not_ a dream and this man was _not_ dead. He responded accordingly, wiggling gently, aware that the blade at his throat could and would kill him.

“Word of advice,” Krauser said, looking more amused than he should be as he leaned in closer, “you and a friend of yours really need to start poking dead horses. Try it with sticks, to make sure they're really dead, you know. I thought you knew better, but here we are.”

“Are you implying you're a horse? Because you're fucking lame, Krauser. I'll be sure to poke the shit out of you next time.” Leon said, knowing he was pushing the man's buttons, knowing bringing up Krauser's injured arm was only going to earn Leon more trouble. Krauser had tossed his knife off the bed, but Matilda was still there on the nightstand. It was possible Leon could get to it the second Krauser let him up, and Krauser was more worried about Leon poking dead horses rather than bears.

The bear would move. The bear always moved.

Krauser laughed despite the comment, blue eyes angled down to stare at Leon's face, glittering in the gentle light. If it weren't for their fucked up past and the fact that this _had_ to be a dream, Leon might have found the man attractive in his age, his shit attitude aside.

“Let's get straight to business before I forget why I came here and just kill you instead.” Krauser suddenly snapped. He sat up, the pressure on Leon's throat easing up as Krauser sheathed his knife against his thigh. The ex-soldier slowly reached a hand up over his own shoulder, biceps bulging, his gaze never straying from Leon's face. Leon eyed up the strap clinging diagonally across Krauser's chest, muscles pulling the black fabric taut, watched and listened with attentive eyes and ears as Krauser snapped a clip hidden behind his shoulder. Slowly, like he was pausing for dramatic effect, Krauser pulled out a two-foot glass cylinder from the bag that had been on his back, his smile spreading, eyes locked on Leon's expression. He ever so slowly placed the cylinder down onto the bed beside Leon's head so Leon could get a good look at it, one hand resting on the top of it while Leon eyed up its contents.

Leon's breath hitched, his body going rigid.

“This was bred just for you. A special strain because you're special to me.” Krauser said gently, like the contents of the glass container hadn't sent Leon's heart racing in his chest. Like Leon didn't know what was about to happen. Like Leon didn't wish Krauser had just stabbed him to death instead.

Leon tried to tear his gaze away from the glass, tried so hard to give Krauser the dirtiest look he could, but he couldn't shift his eyes away. God. This wasn't a dream, this was a nightmare, and a tiny part of his brain refused to acknowledge that this was _really happening._ Leon had drunk himself damn near alcohol poisoning, and now here was Krauser, straddling him in his _own bed_ , threatening him with one of Leon's recurring nightmares in the flesh. This was bogus. Leon inhaled deeply, making sure he felt the breath deep in his lungs, before calmly exhaling.

The cylinder was three-thirds full with a clear liquid, the half-foot Plaga floating inside looking docile and content despite the gentle disturbance of its tank. The Plaga was darker than the ones Leon remembered, its body smaller and more streamlined. It didn't reflect the light like its black shell adsorbed it instead. Its little legs and thin tail moved every time Krauser jostled the tank, but otherwise, it remained curled up and content. It didn't look like a monster, didn't give off the same aggressive vibe as the other Plagas Leon had seen. Unless, optimistically, Krauser was just showing him a cute little river monster he had found, one that happened to distantly resemble a Plaga.

“What are you planning?” Leon asked, his voice coming out in nothing more than a whisper. He felt himself go cold, sobering up almost instantly, mind going a mile a minute. Why else would Krauser be here, with a Plaga, straddling Leon to his own bed?

“I'd rather surprise you.” Krauser said with a smirk like they were sharing an inside joke. He shifted, making sure to keep even pressure in his knees against Leon's arms, as he unscrewed the lid to the tank, placing the cap down beside him. “What you _do_ need to know is that you're going to play a part in history, Leon. You might even be remembered by name.”

“No.” Leon said, not sure what he was denying. His eyes slightly widened as Krauser stuck his hand into the tank, gently plucking the Plaga by its tail. It didn't even flinch, only clawed at the water further drifting from its reach as it was removed, before trying to curl back up into itself. This didn't look like any Plaga Leon had ever set his eyes on. This one was so docile and lazy. Different. It was smaller too, didn't look like it would tear out the throat on its way down.

_Tear out the throat-_

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Don't panic._

“I hand picked you for this, you know. You still never cease to impress me, Leon.” Krauser said his name affectionately as he pulled the Plaga out and presented it to Leon so he could see it, like Krauser had brought him a gift. The Plaga curled up into itself like a possum, little legs rubbing together against small mandibles like it was trying to wipe away the remnants of the fluid it had been submerged in. Krauser carelessly let the tank fall onto the bed by Leon's head. Leon startled at the movement, catching the excited glow in Krauser's eye. The liquid seeped into the blankets and the mattress, soaking into the side of Leon's shirt and hair. Leon inhaled at the chill but hardly cared, eyes locked onto the silent Plaga.

“You know, it's cute, but I can't keep pets in this apartment. Sorry.” Leon said, his voice thin. “Maybe someone else would like it.”

“I picked you because I hate you, but you're the only person who can get shit done properly.” Krauser said, and if the situation had been a little more casual Leon might have taken that as a compliment. “We had a list of candidates, so congratulations, comrade. You made the cut just like you always do.”

“Who is 'we'?” Leon asked. His tone hitched as Krauser leaned forward, the man's free hand gently caressing Leon's cheek. It was warm but not familiar anymore. This man was part BOW and that right hand could turn into a lethal weapon in the blink of an eye. Leon didn't move.

“Me and a friend of mine. You don't need to know yet.” Krauser said ambiguously with a smile, thumb brushing against Leon's bottom lip. “Now open wide. We're going to have a long night together.”

“No.” Leon said, suddenly sounding a touch desperate as he realized what Krauser intended to do with the Plaga right here, right now. He had known the second he had seen the creature, but now it really _hit_. Leon started to wiggle in earnest, eyes wide but locked on the Plaga hovering closer to his face. “Krauser, no.”

Krauser smiled. Leon locked his teeth together and twisted his face away just as Krauser tried to shove his thumb into his mouth, the pad of his finger pressing painfully against his teeth. Temporarily deterred, the large hand snagged up under Leon's jaw, encompassing it, compressing the corners just beneath Leon's ears.

“Open your mouth before I break your jaw.” Krauser threatened, his hand squeezing dangerously. Leon tried to twist away, eyes narrowed, before finally spitting in Krauser's hand. The action itself pissed the other man off for a second, his hand squeezing, mouth opening to complain. Leon quickly brought his legs up, flexibility saving his ass on multiple occasions, and tried to get at least one leg between him and Krauser so he could wrench the man off.

Krauser clicked his tongue as he ducked closer to deny Leon's leg access between them, Leon's knees painfully digging into the man's sides instead as he jabbed at his ribs and tried to push him off his ribcage. He struggled against the hand on his face and the weight on his elbows, hoping the next time Krauser shifted, he might be able to wiggle free.

Krauser pressed his palm down hard against Leon's windpipe instead, his own knees squeezing against Leon's ribs to try and force him to gasp for air. Sucking air through his teeth, Leon held out, desperately trying to twist his body and jab his knees under Krauser's ribs, knowing that if Krauser wanted him dead, he already would have twisted his neck, stabbed him, or shot Leon with his own handgun. Any of the above.

What Krauser wanted was worse than dying.

“I've always hated and admired your stubbornness.” Krauser said, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure when Leon's mouth started to open for breath. “Your flexibility is just another piss-off too. Who the fuck are you, looking this good even at this age? I could fold you in half if I wanted to, and it wouldn't even hurt.”

“No, Krauser, _no_.” Leon choked, eyes closed as he tried to focus on breathing _and_ keeping his mouth shut. He shouldn't have wasted breath, but he knew where this was going, knew he wouldn't be able to push Krauser off, knew he'd end up worse than he'd been in Spain because the Plaga was older, and Krauser was here on a mission.

“Are you going to beg?” Krauser asked.

Leon desperately wheezed through his clenched jaw for breath, arms jerking urgently underneath Krauser's knees, his mouth opening for air as he was suffocated. His vision was starting to turn black, his chest burning from lack of oxygen and his legs fell from Krauser's side to kick at the sheets, back trying to arch for breath. But despite all this, he still shot Krauser a dirty look, earning himself a laugh.

“Take a full, deep breath, Leon.” Krauser said gently, like he was coaching him through a panic attack. Leon couldn't see his face past the spots in his vision. Krauser let his neck go.

Leon gasped, sucking in air as fast as he could just as a salty thumb hooked into his mouth, the pad pressing down on Leon's tongue. Suddenly, the Plaga was dropped in between his teeth just as Leon snapped his mouth shut. Both of Krauser's hands were hooked into his teeth now, forcing his jaw open as the parasite wiggled lazily in Leon's mouth unharmed, legs skittering slowly across his tongue before it started to easily slide into the back of his throat, blocking his airway. A high, panicked sound left Leon just before his air cut off, Krauser humming dangerously at it.

Leon started to thrash when he couldn't breathe, back arching at the sensation of the parasite sliding easily down the back of his throat, head suddenly hot in panic. His heart rate jumped hazardously, arms desperately fighting beneath Krauser's weight while the ex-soldier forced his head to tilt back for easier passage. Leon was kicking against his sheets, hips wiggling desperately beneath Krauser's weight. There was no friction as the Plaga lazily slid down Leon's esophagus in slow, smooth, pushes, just the prick of little legs and the gentle wiggle of its body as it took its sweet time. A desperate whine left Leon's throat when the Plaga was far enough down for Leon to breathe, a loud, greedy inhale filling the room as Leon's newfound breath left him just as fast as it had come, his body still jerking desperately beneath Krauser.

“No, no, no, no-”

“Take it easy, comrade. Full, deep breaths.” Krauser said. But he sounded amused, his hands still firm on Leon's jaw, keeping his head tilted back to allow the Plaga easier passage.

A loud whine left the back of Leon's throat when his chest suddenly started to burn, his next inhale wheezy and desperate and he moaned desperately. His heart rate started to stutter out of control, hands and knees going numb, smothering his struggles and leaving him a shuddering mess. This was worse than the Super Tyrant, worse than Spain. This was worse than the UVB machine, worse than crashing a fucking Boeing aircraft. Idly, Leon realized Krauser was still talking to him, shushing him, using his gentle voice despite the half-lidded gaze and the small smirk on his face. He was fucking loving it. He was loving every panicked noise, every tear that pricked the corner of Leon's eyes. Leon's breathing was out of control, vision swimming as the Plaga painfully made its home in his chest cavity, his struggles starting to pick back up in desperation.

“You're going to pass out, comrade.” Krauser scolded. “You forget all your practical training on deep breathing or something? I know they dragged you out of Raccoon hell and taught you a thing or two about managing your stress.”

There was a hand stroking Leon's cheek, and suddenly Leon realized Krauser wasn't holding his face in place anymore. Twisting his head to the side, Leon gasped, choking on mucus from the Plaga or his own saliva, he didn't know. But Krauser's hand gently landed on Leon's jaw, tilting his head back so they could look at each other. Krauser's pupils were blown, his eyes half-lidded.

“Last chance to get your breathing in check. I don't want your pretty little self passing out on me because I think I'm just going to have to indulge myself now.” Krauser said, thumb smoothing over the stubble on Leon's jaw. “Fuck, what a sight. Do you know what I should have done back on our mission down south? Fuck, I probably could have gotten you like this in Spain, too, or could have actually died trying. You were _dangerous_ in Spain. Breaking you would have been more satisfying than this drunkard you've become, but _still._ ”

Leon gasped again, eyebrows creasing when Krauser shifted. Leon's eyes floated down, spotting the obvious tent in Krauser's black fatigues. He stared at the other man's crotch for a moment, confusion swimming in his head before he realized what else was about to happen. The panic crashed back through him, sending him careening over the edge again. He'd never been assaulted like this, hell, as embarrassing as it might be, he'd never even done this _consensually_ _._

“No- Krauser- Krauser, no-” Leon jerked, his breath gone again, the Plaga forgot for a solid second.

“Oh, stop that. You're a goddamn _delicacy,_ how could I resist?” Krauser scolded. He sat back on Leon's ribcage, reaching behind him and grabbing Leon through his jeans, roughly palming him. “You used to give me those puppy-dog eyes until you saw me in Spain. Fuck, I should have taken you back then when you were young and eager. You've always been tempting, but I didn't realize having you subdued and begging under me would be so fucking hot.”

“You bastard-” Leon snapped, pulling at his numb arms. His struggles calmed, head tilting back, the burning in his chest subsiding as he tried to get himself under control. _Breathe, in for four, out for eight. Just breathe. Just breathe. It's okay. It's okay._

“Keep talking, Leon.” Krauser said, eyes darkening. “Keep denying me and begging me to stop.”

Leon whimpered, mustering up the narrowest glare he could as Krauser's hand trailed up his waistband and started to unbutton his jeans. The fucker was getting off on this. Leon's breath hitched, body jerking as the Plaga shifted, sudden, intense pain shooting up his chest and into his neck. Leon groaned, head tilting back as his struggles ceased, white-hot pain washing over him, burning every nerve in his body

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die and I'm going to take other people out with me because Krauser's going to turn me into a monster._

Leon's next wheeze had him blind, his brain tingling so bad Leon knew he was flirting with the edges of consciousness. _Krauser's going to control me. He's going to use the Plaga to control me. He's going to use my status to his advantage-_

“Breathe, Leon. I want you to be conscious for this.” Krauser said in mock gentleness, his hand sliding underneath Leon's waistband, warm calloused fingers penetrating lower and lower. He snagged Leon in his hand, only earning himself another short gasp as Leon started to struggle again. Leon wrapped his legs around Krauser's offending arm, yanking the man back.

The pressure on Leon's elbows was gone for a split second before Krauser wrenched his arm free from Leon's legs, both of the ex-soldier's hands slamming onto Leon's wrists as he got his elbows trapped before Leon could really squirm away.

“No, what do you want? What are you after? You already have the Plaga in me so fuck off! You're obviously not going to kill me, don't do this!” Leon snapped breathlessly, eyes wide open but not seeing. The room was spinning. “What is Umbrella planning?”

Krauser smirked. “The same as usual.”

“Krauser-” Leon's words abruptly cut off, pain suddenly shooting through his body like cold fire. He gasped, head tilting back as his nerves were set alight, stars dancing across his vision. There was pinching in his upper spine, little prickles, the muscles in his back spasming and leaving him strung like a bow, struggling to inhale. _Fuck, fuck, the Plaga is attaching-_

The next few minutes were a blur. Leon gasped and wheezed. His arms suddenly jerked free to clutch at the bedsheets as fire tingled down his fingers, leaving him hot and cold at the same time. His back arched off the bed as Krauser shifted off of him, white-hot pain flaring through his system. He was breathless and half-aware of what was happening to him, half hoping he would just die, half glad that when he survived he wouldn't remember the rape. But the haze in his thoughts and his gap in time cleared just in time for Krauser to painfully penetrate him, chest to chest. Leon's legs locked desperately around the other man's hips as he gasped, pain assaulting every part of his body. Whatever Krauser had used for lube, it had been just enough to get the job done, and not enough to be comfortable.

“Krauser- Jack- _no-_ ” Leon's head tilted back as he cried out for the first time as Krauser pressed in to the hilt with a groan. Leon downright almost _s_ _quealed_ _._ His eyes screwed shut as he moaned in pain, head spinning, his heart still hammering painfully in his burning chest. Krauser hesitated as Leon began to spasm around him, panting in Leon's ear. Leon clenched, hoping he hurt the fucker.

“Take a deep breath, Leon.” Krauser whispered gently, hot breath ghosting Leon's jaw. Stubble tickled against Leon's skin, his hair standing on end at the contact.

Leon's breath shuddered, eyes closed. “Shut the fuck up, Krauser.”

“I love it when you say my name like that.” Krauser chuckled. He shifted his hips, drawing a low groan from deep in Leon's throat before adopting a leisurely pace like he intended to drag this out.

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm-_

Leon didn't realize he was crying until Krauser swiped his thumb across his cheek. Krauser made a pleased sound as he leaned down over Leon, his left elbow hovering over Leon's shoulder, his other hand firmly attached to Leon's hip in a bruising grip.

“Tell me you want more, comrade.” Krauser whispered into his ear, breath hot as he snapped his hips slow and painfully. “Tell me you want it harder.”

“No.” Leon said, the word cracking out of his mouth before he realized _th_ _is_ was what Krauser had wanted, the denial, the pathetic fight, the stubbornness before the inevitable submission. Krauser moaned above him, pace picking up slightly. His hips were snapping painfully into Leon's, the headboard knocking against the wall. Overwhelmed with the Plaga and now _this_ , Leon only pushed weakly at the other man, his eyes squeezed shut in desperation, trying to breathe, he needed to _breathe_.

When Krauser finished inside of him, hot and sticky, Leon choked on a pained sob. His cheeks were wet but the tears were only trailing out of his eyes. Nothing he couldn't ignore as he sat up cradled against Krauser's thighs, head spinning. His button-up shirt had been torn open, bites littering his skin. His jeans and boxers were lost to the floor with the rest of his clothes, his messy surroundings hiding the evidence.

Shuddering in another gasp, Leon's eyes slid over to Krauser shifting from beneath him to the edge of his bed, fixing his pants. Leon considered lunging for him right then, considered grabbing his gun and shooting the man right there, but his limbs were still shaking like a newborn fawn, his head still spinning so violently like he had downed an entire bottle of whiskey without even hesitating. He had never felt so weak. So pathetic. All because a ghost had come back for him with a fucking parasite and a hard-on. And speaking of the parasite, Leon needed to call Hunnigan, and he needed to call Hunnigan _now_. He was a national threat now, on his way to becoming a biological weapon. And if Krauser had gotten him so _easily_ there was no doubt Krauser could infect more people within the blink of an eye. There could already be a fucking epidemic on the go.

Krauser glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed but sated, his smile making Leon's face and chest burn in hatred. Leon's lips pulled back, baring his teeth at him.

“Come here.” Krauser said.

“No.” Leon whispered defiantly, still trying to catch up to everything that had just happened, still trying to reign in his shuddering limbs. The Plaga. The rape. What the fuck? Could this get any worse?

“Come here. That's an order.” Krauser said, eyes suddenly scrutinizing.

 _He's testing_ _the Plaga_ _'s_ _obedience_ _which means he has the Dominant Plaga_ _._ Another low whine left Leon's throat at the realization, heart rate picking up again. He was going to have a heart attack. He was going to have a fucking heart attack and die and this was how he was finally going to go out. He didn't move, analyzed himself and realized he could still deny Krauser's word. There was comfort in that. Back in Spain, it had taken twelve hours for the Plaga to start to bother him, and while it had never controlled him, it had scared him half to death. _But that had been an egg_ _and the original Plaga. T_ _his Plaga is_ _genetically-engineered and_ _already half a foot long. And it's a new strain, who knows how long it will be before I- before-_

Images of the infected villagers came back to Leon's thoughts. Leon could still remember that first villager that had stumbled towards him with the parasite emerging from the man's neck, exploding flesh, skull, and brain matter so violently that droplets of the gore had splattered onto Leon's cheek. One day, that might be Leon.

Krauser chuckled as he stood up and turned around. “Might want to start listening before I can go for round two. I promise I'll be nice if you behave.”

Leon didn't retort, his eyes wide and locked on Krauser's hand. He was still panting, hands still trembling, but his thoughts were still his own. How could he let his guard down like this? He had been doing shit all at work and at home for the past few weeks. All of this drinking had done him in, and in the worst way possible. But how could he have expected this? _Could_ he have seen this coming? Was there anything he could have done to prevent it?

Krauser stood up, leaning over the bed to grab a fistful of Leon's hair, and forcefully dragged him off the mattress. His smile turned into a snarl, teeth bared. “I said _come here._ ”

Leon moaned gently as he was dragged from the bed by his hair. His torn shirt swayed around him as he stumbled, the only protection he had as he staggered after Krauser. The man dragged him to the bathroom, kicked the door open with his combat boots, and shoved Leon in. Leon's breath was ragged again as Krauser pushed him against the sink, his bare hip slamming into the porcelain corner painfully. There would be bruises in the morning if he made it to daybreak, nasty black bruises that would stand out against his pale skin. Leon's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the counter, his breath coming out harshly. He needed to fight, he needed to defend himself and get this Plaga _out._

Krauser turned on the tap to the sink, hand sliding out of Leon's hair. His voice evened out, still commanding but no longer annoyed. “Drink. You need water.”

Leon refused with a simple glare, mind running through everything he had in his bathroom that could become a weapon, but it looked like Krauser had enough of his defiance.

Krauser back-handed him, knuckles cracking over Leon's mouth.

Leon gasped as he spun into the wall, the hit stinging his nose and lips and jarring his murderous thoughts. Leon blinked rapidly, his breath suddenly caught, a hand ghosting over his mouth and pulling away with blood. _Holy shit. What the fuck. Fuck. Relax. It's okay. I'm okay._

“It's a basic command, comrade.” Krauser snapped.

Leon shifted his narrowed gaze over before dropping his hand. He stood up from the wall. He would kill the man with his toothbrush if he had to. “No.”

Krauser smirked, pausing for a second, eyes dark still. Leon was just about to lunge at him when Krauser opened his mouth again.

“Drink. That's an _order._ ”

Leon stiffened, his mind locking onto the words. Something must have visibly happened because Krauser's smile lit up, arms crossing over his chest in amusement. Leon swallowed thickly, his eyes sliding over to the tap, enraptured with it. _No, no, no._ Leon stepped toward the sink, his thoughts suddenly looping the command over and over again. _Drink._ This was just like in Spain, except instead of suddenly feeling murderous and unaware he was out of control, Leon _knew._ He knew he wasn't in control and he knew he couldn't deny the order and he was doing what he didn't want to do anyway.

The reality of it was terrifying.

Leon slowly placed both hands on the basin again before dipping his head under the tap, slowly pressing his mouth into the stream of water, taking a long drink. He closed his eyes, imagined he had woken up in the middle of the night again, and just needed a quick sip to wet his throat, and that he wasn't succumbing to the Plaga forcing him to do as he'd been told.

Leon stood up when he was finished, eyes flickering up from the sink before locking on his reflection in the mirror, heart skipping a beat.

His eyes were red, fading back to blue. The Plaga was already attached, but instead of turning feral like the Plagas overseas, Leon was in control until he was given an explicit order. It reminded him of something else, but Leon didn't dare think about it just yet. He couldn't handle _more._

How long would it be before Leon suddenly turned feral? Those infected with the Plaga had been _obviously_ infected, hostile, and aggressive. But Leon didn't feel any of that.

_Yet._

In the mirror, Krauser stepped up behind him, pressing his hips into Leon's ass and Leon didn't have the energy or will to move. Krauser placed his hands on the edge of the sink right beside Leon's white-knuckled ones, lips ghosting over the shell of Leon's ear.

“I'm going to fuck you one last time against this sink and then I'm going to go until I need you, comrade. You'll wait for me.” Krauser said, breath hot as he rubbed himself into Leon's backside. “I have orders for you. You're going to keep your mouth shut about me. You will not tell or allude to anyone that you saw me or that we had contact. You will not tell or allude to anyone about the Plaga in you right now. You will not warn anyone in any way about a foreboding future and you will not willingly submit to any medical checks. These, _Leon_ , are my orders.”

Leon's breath shuddered, eyes dropping down to the sink. This didn't sound like Krauser, these words were the result of failed experimenting, figuring out what worked and what didn't until it was used in the field.

Leon squeezed his eyes shut, already knowing that once given orders, the Plaga would force obedience. _This wasn't how it was in Spain… was it?_ _This is more like the Tyrant's orders. I might be able to get around it._

“And one last thing,” Krauser said, the smile audible in his tone. His calloused hands landed on Leon's hips, sliding up underneath the sides of his open shirt up to ghost over Leon's ribs, “next time you fuck someone or touch yourself, I order you to think about me. Not that you'll have a lot of time.”

Leon closed his eyes, jaw tense as Krauser's hands disappeared to pull the front of his pants open again, slowly hardening in excitement. Krauser still had time before he could go again, took to harassing Leon until then with his hands and his words and his mouth, but Leon wished it could just be over with. He hated that he went slack in Krauser's hold, hated that he silently submitted, if only because the worst was already over.

Forty minutes later, Leon scampered out of the bathroom with tears streaking down his face, Krauser gone with the wind only ten minutes ago. He was in pain, but he could walk.

_Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't-_

In his bedroom, Leon slapped the light on the wall, sensitive eyes narrowing, before going to his dresser for the first time in weeks, digging for clean clothes out of the bottom of his drawers. He got dressed, fresh boxers, fresh black jeans, and a fresh shirt before his breath started to stutter out of him as his insides turned cold. He slid over to his closet, pulling out a black hoodie, pulling it over his head, hoping the warmth would calm him down. Over his shoulder, he glanced at his bed, his hands numb and shaking, stomach rolling at the sight. The cylinder was gone, but there was a huge wet stain on the comforter to remind Leon of what had transpired. Shaking, Leon moved over, eyes on the bed.

There was blood. There was blood on the sheets from Krauser's eagerness, and with a choking gasp, Leon turned to his bedside table. He turned off the lamp that had been left on before grabbing his gun, checking Matilda over with blurry eyes and quivering hands. Snugly, he slid the gun into his waistband, not bothering to get a belt. He left the bedroom as fast as he could, his breath wheezing out of him, hands shaking so violently he hardly got the light off as he went.

He floated down his hallway into the dark living room, eyes snapping over to the front door.

It was unlocked.

Belatedly, Leon wondered if Krauser had gotten in through the front door, if it had been as simple as Drunk Leon had forgotten to lock it, and Krauser had simply waltzed right in. Or had he come through the window like the sneaky bastard he was? Had Drunk Leon closed the window? Or had Krauser gotten in another way?

He couldn't remember. There was no way to know.

He couldn't breathe. Leon couldn't breathe, and the tears streaming down his face made it hard to see, made him uncomfortable with his own face. There was a Plaga in his chest, lazily curled up, a heavyweight he was blatantly aware of. Pain skipped up his back, heat pooling between his legs and not in a good way. _Krauser._ He had trusted him, once upon a time. His hands were starting to stick closed, fingers refusing to open, and as much as he knew this was _normal_ in a sense, chicken-hands because he wasn't breathing properly, it only spurred his panic on further.

Lightheaded and thoughtless, Leon spotted his phone on the coffee table, the surface of it glowing innocuously in the moonlight. He stumbled for his couch, swaying dangerously on his way until he was collapsing beside the table, his hand knocking off an empty bottle of whiskey. It bounced off the carpet as he grasped desperately for his phone, his body finally succumbing to the frantic pace of his heart. He was on his hands and knees in a moment, gasping for air, one hand pressing to his chest as the Plaga shifted. Perhaps his panicking heart was bothering the fucker, but the parasite's shifting only made everything worse. _I will cut you out myself if I have to._

“Relax, relax, relax.” Leon's shaky hand struggled to unlock his cellphone, struggled even harder between the icons. The struggle only made his blood surge, dots dancing across his vision. He knew what to do. He knew who to call. But it was like he had never used a phone before in his life as he brought up his contacts list, his brain fumbling the steps.

He hesitated abruptly, sharp, hot, pain erupting through his entire being as he considered just calling Hunnigan and telling her that he was compromised and that Jack Krauser was on the loose with Plagas in tow. He needed medical attention, he needed the Plaga out _now._ He moaned, a hand to his chest, physically _unable_ to act on his thoughts as his limbs locked up, no matter how hard he focused on what he knew needed to be done. He couldn't even do it without thinking, couldn't trick himself into it. The Plaga denied him. The phone shuddered out of his trembling hand and back to the carpet, a moan of frustration echoing as he hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

He couldn't call Hunnigan, or anyone at work. No one could know about Krauser. No one could know about the Plaga. The pain eased at the compliance, his limbs unlocking as he pawed for his phone once again and continued to scroll through his contacts, searching for an Option B.

It revived the panic, sent it careening far out of control.

The names in his caller list all jumbled together into an incomprehensible mess so he switched to his text messages, scrolling through the work-related ones to the bottom. With heat in his chest and the breath wheezing out of him, he found the name he was looking for and he clicked it. After a moment of struggle, he managed to make an outgoing call just as his vision went white, his head floating down towards the carpet, a choked sob leaving his throat. _Don't pass out, you're so close._

He wasn't one-hundred percent sure what he was doing, but he needed someone to know he was compromised and going down, without having to explain. And when the other end of the line picked up, he instantly felt relieved. Maybe if he passed out, someone would come get him and discover the Plaga on their own.

He clung to consciousness, albeit, a little unwillingly.

“Leon, what a surprise! How's it going?”

Claire was awake and excited, which meant she was across the world. But that didn't matter, what mattered was her voice in his ear, and as much as he hated to ruin her good mood, he couldn't hide the wheeze that left his chest in abrupt bursts. She instantly realized what was wrong and he both loved and hated that she instantly knew what to do.

“Leon, Leon you're okay.” Claire's tone changed instantaneously. They had only made a handful of calls like these, the open trust between them leaving Leon shuddering for more air. “Just take a deep breath.”

_Deep breath, comrade._

“Claire.” Leon choked, his inhale whistling. He needed to explain, he _couldn't_ _fucking_ _explain._ “Claire, I'm-”

“You're okay.” Claire said again, her voice soothing. “Leon, you're going to be okay. Take a deep breath, okay? It's midnight there, isn't it? Midnight-thirty?”

Leon chuckled, eyes closing. “Yeah.”

“Well it's noon here, and let me tell you, it's sweltering.” Claire said, her voice picking up again. “I thought I'd get used to the heat but I don't think I ever will. I miss the city but I'll be back before I know it.”

Leon hummed, knowing that she was trying to distract him, but also knowing that the situation this time was worse than anything ever before. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't. So he opted just to listen to her, so he could calm down and figure out what he was going to do about this because that was all he could do now, wasn't it?

After a few minutes of chatter that Leon usually would have loved to listen to but hardly remembered, Claire realized the situation wasn't deescalating.

“Leon.” Claire said simply. Her tone was reassuring but assertive. “I'm going to call my brother and send him over there for you. He's going to help, okay?”

Leon wanted to protest, but he was leaning against his couch with his face in the cushion, eyes closed as he panted for air. The panic hadn't subsided. He had a fucking Plaga in his chest and a dead man could tell him what to do and how to do it and Leon could only back talk while he obeyed.

When it felt like he was getting control back, the Plaga would shift and set him off all over again, pain shooting up his back into his neck. He wanted to deny it was _bad enough_ to warrant a visit, but his body wouldn't stop. He still couldn't feel his hands, still couldn't stop the tears, still couldn't get his breathing in check. Krauser's hands were ghosting all over him, the Plaga inside of him reminding him that he was now an enemy to the entire city, and with the right puppeteer, Leon could infect _everyone_. He could ruin _everything._

_My luck, I'll be the bringer of the apocalypse and Umbrella will finally succeed._

He set himself off again, hands trembling against his face. The fucking whiskey probably had a play in this too, making everything generally worse. Leon didn't hear Claire's next question, let alone respond. He briefly wondered if he should turn on all the lights, remembered a time when the darkness triggered his PTSD and he was whipping his gun out at the shadows when cars drove by. It was like his years of mandatory therapy suddenly all unraveled at the same time, all of his defenses crumbling down at once.

“Leon? Leon, answer me.”

Leon hummed. He couldn't turn the lights on. He couldn't _move_.

“I'll be right back.” Claire said steadily. “Answer your phone when I call, okay? I'm going to call someone to go check on you. Just remember to breathe.”

Leon hummed again, eyes closing. The Plaga shifted in his chest, a prick of pain making him jerk, a combination of memories from Raccoon city and Spain and-

He was spiraling out of control, and he was going to turn the whole city before he either killed himself or became a monster that wouldn't lay down and die.


	4. Ring-A-Round The Rosie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon struggles to ask for help, but at the end of the day, both Redfields are a little too aggressive in their concern for him.
> 
> Which is fine, because Leon now has an idea on how he can take care of this problem. Even if both options are really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter is supposed to feel a little awkward and internal monologue-y, in case you feel awkward about it. I promise more *glances to smudged writing on hand* uh, more 'action' comes next.
> 
> Also did some editing, everything should have a chapter title and a summary now, as well as some spelling/grammar fixes.

Leon was still in Chris' shower when he decided he'd had enough of being a victim. While yes, he'd been pretty emotionally distraught over the past couple of hours, he wasn't the type to just roll over when something or someone physically threatened him.

He was more than just mad.

He was fucking _pissed._

Leon wasn't meek. He wasn't helpless. The Plaga hadn't turned him feral yet so he still had a fighting chance if he acted fast enough. He was Leon Scott Kennedy and he had shit to do, which included ruining people's shitty plans for World Domination even on his day off and after drinking copious amounts of whiskey. He didn't know what Krauser was planning, but he was intent on stopping him, rebelling to the best of his abilities and then some. What did Krauser think, that assaulting him in his own bed would scare Leon into submission? That Leon wouldn't test the limits of the Plaga, trying to find a way to get it out of him? That Leon would just roll over and blame himself for Krauser's fury, would accept his fate and play his part? Leon was going to kill the bastard with the man's own fucking knife.

The marks were at their worst against his skin, black hand-prints and obvious signs of abuse. If he reported that he had been raped, someone else might connect the dots that it was Krauser _for him_ without him having to try and tell _,_ but that was incredibly unlikely. But if he also complained enough about chest pain, suggested a fractured rib, they might take an x-ray and spot the Plaga. Eventually, _someone_ would notice something was wrong. The Plaga wasn't exactly known for being coexistent, and when he started to go bad, someone would _notice._

 _You will not willingly submit to a medical check._ Shit. Leon wondered if telling Chris and then being forced into a medical check would break the rule. He considered it then, considered strutting out and just stating what had happened the night before. _Chris, I was raped._ Chris would look at him in shock, but when Leon denied going to the medical ward, Chris wouldn't make him go against his will, would he? He was too nice to do that. Chris would only force him if it was an emergency, which meant Leon needed to set the stakes high. _I could tell him I'm suicidal. He'd force me then. I could tell him it's happened before and I've had enough and I'm losing my mind. I've been drinking enough, and after last night, he'd readily believe me._

It sounded so simple, but the words suddenly made Leon nervous. Lying wasn't his forte. He was bluntly honest but he was also horrendously private.

But unlike last night when Leon had attempted to call Hunnigan with the intent to tell her everything, he didn't feel any physical repercussions when he considered the plan. He wondered briefly if the Plaga would hurt him the second he tried to speak, if thinking about what he _would_ do wasn't as committed as _doing_ it.

Did he have any other options? He kept cycling through, couldn't come up with anything clever, Krauser stealing his attention. Maybe it was the panic? Maybe he just needed to sleep on it some more? Did he even have time? _Stop thinking. Just relax._

There was a spark of pain in his chest, leaving Leon weak in the knees. He suddenly thought back on his idea on calling in tomorrow, considering that maybe he should actually go in and do some more Plaga investigating in the office, see if he could find any information that might help his case. This Plaga was different, which meant Umbrella must have pulled ideal traits out from their other monsters to make it _work._ The genetics were different, more controllable it seemed, and it didn't completely take over its host and turn them feral.

_Yet._

Shakily, Leon exhaled, water running down his back. He was soap free already, just letting the water run over him and soak into his sore, _sore_ muscles, trying to find comfort in anything he could. He didn't know how long he had been in here, but he knew it had been too long. His fingers were starting to wrinkle. He needed to get out. He needed to do _something._ He just didn't know what needed to be done. He needed to pull himself together and face the day.

When he got out of the shower, he was still undecided on what he was going to do. If he told Chris, there was a chance it could all go wrong. What if he told Chris and nothing was done about it and Chris just looked at him with pity?

He was overthinking it. He needed help for the Plaga, and he _knew better_ than to ignore the rape.

He got dressed in yesterday's clothes while dodging the mirror, tossed the towel into the hamper before exiting the steamy bathroom. He felt better now. Albeit, marginally. His head was still a little murky from the hangover and his lower back still hurt, but he was clean and he was warm and he was safe here with Chris, even if he still had Krauser's semen dried in his ass.

_Just don't think about it._

In the hallway, he could smell food, could hear toast popping out of the toaster. Taking a deep breath, Leon moved down the hall, sitting carefully back down at the island counter. He reached out, taking a long drink of water, not realizing just how dry his mouth had been. He felt better, but he still felt like shit. He needed a drink. A real drink.

“How are you feeling?” Chris asked. He spun away from the stove with a plate full of food, sliding it across the island counter to Leon. He didn't look bothered by Leon's presence, didn't seem to notice Leon's determination to get this _problem_ sorted out.

Leon glanced to the plate, steaming with scrambled eggs and sausages, some suspicious looking strawberries lining the side with a heap of equally suspicious looking blueberries. The toast came next, Chris dropping two pieces onto Leon's plate before sliding some butter Leon's way along with cutlery. At first, Leon's stomach churned, the Plaga and Krauser killing his appetite. But then he remembered he was mad, _genuinely angry_ , and he stubbornly ignored his body's protests. He would eat. Krauser wouldn't take this away from him too.

“Thanks.” Leon said, picking at the toast first. He didn't bother to butter it, just shoved the corner into his mouth, biting it off. He didn't realize how hungry he was, suddenly scarfing back the whole slice.

Chris dropped toast onto his own generously portioned plate before sitting down a stool away from Leon again. He started digging into the meat, the topic of _last night_ temporarily behind them. Leon couldn't be more thankful.

“Is that normal, by the way?” Chris asked eventually, shooting Leon a pointed look.

“What?” Leon asked, shoving the second slice of toast into his mouth. When was the last time he had actually eaten? He knew he was forgetting basic things lately, but his sudden hunger was a little dramatic, in his opinion. His chewing paused in sudden concern. _It's not the Plaga_ _stealing energy_ _, is it?_

“Ignoring questions and then just changing the subject instead.” Chris said.

Leon rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but smile at his next retort. “This is good toast. Better than the bread I buy.”

Chris scoffed before he laughed. “Nice answer. You really are a shit sometimes, you know that?”

“I know.” Leon said, a genuine grin on his face. “I'm a natural.”

“You sure as hell are, and you better not forget that.” Chris laughed.

Leon finished off his plate, reminding himself that a little bit of sustenance could go a long way. He could kill Krauser with a fucking raw egg if he had too, would shove the whole damn thing down his throat until he choked before cracking the shell into pieces.

_Jesus, Kennedy. Relax._

“Are you still hungry? Do you want more?” Chris asked, glancing over. He was only halfway through his breakfast, Leon literally scraping off the remnants of his plate.

Leon only grunted in response. He still couldn't remember the last time he had eaten in general, let alone a full meal, nothing but whiskey and shitty office coffee pumping through his system. He supposed his deterioration was an awful combination between mourning his losses in Tall Oaks and having to organize an Organization that had never been too organized in the first place. His job now was to manage the chaos that he had inadvertently caused, to sort out the office and his tiny department. He only really cared about appeasing Hunnigan. She was his right hand, could talk him through anything. Everything except for this.

It was like every day he went to work and had to stare his failures in the face. And now, every waking moment was a failure, the Plaga sitting innocuously in his chest until the worst possible moment. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed that Chris had collected his plate once he was done, taking everything over to the sink. Belatedly, Leon realized the man had been trying and failing to casually converse with him. Leon really needed to turn his brain off for a moment.

Leon inhaled, eyes closed, readying himself to spill the beans, if only to get it out of the way, out of his thoughts. What else could he do? Keep his mouth shut like Krauser expected? No. Leon would get his way and the Plaga would come _out_. Krauser wouldn't win because Leon wasn't as isolated as Krauser thought. _It's now or never._

“Claire's probably going to call you at some point today.” Chris said, shattering Leon's thoughts before Leon could say anything.

“I probably worried her.” Leon said, honestly thinking back to last night. Which was a bad idea. He could still feel the pressure in his chest, could still feel the Plaga lazily crawling down his throat, and given the circumstances, perhaps he could have responded a lot better. He was hungover now, sober, so in hindsight, Drunk Leon had reacted incredibly poorly to Krauser's assault. Leon also decided he was more shaken by the Plaga than what had transpired in his own bed.

Or so he decided, because logically, he _should be_ more scared about his own life and the outcome of the Plaga, and not terrified from just a moment of helplessness.

Right?

Leon's hands suddenly went cold, realizing that at some point he was going to have to go home and sleep in that bed again. That at some point, he was going to have to face the fact that Krauser had come back from the fucking dead just to shove a Plaga down his throat and fuck him twice under his own roof. It wasn’t even on the battlefield. It was at home, off mission, where Leon was supposed to be _safe._

Leon's hands suddenly started to tingle, a slight tremor in his fingertips, realizing that _next time_ , Krauser could just order him to bend over and Leon wouldn't be able to refuse. That Krauser could have him anywhere and any way, and Leon wouldn't be able to deny him. Would Krauser come for him at home again? Assault him again? Was Leon's apartment compromised now? Was Krauser keeping tabs on him, knew where he was at all times regardless of Leon's efforts to hide?

Or would the next order be to kill everyone he knew?

Leon knew his skills. He knew he'd be successful even if he didn't want to be and that thought was suddenly on loop in his brain. _And what if Krauser orders me to kill everyone I know? It would be so easy because they wouldn't suspect me. It'd be as simple as raising my gun, and in th_ _at split_ _second_ _when_ _they hesitate because they're confused_ _and betrayed and_ _in denial_ _, I put a bullet between their eyes._

Leon felt the blood drain from his face.

“Leon?” Chris called. He was standing at the sink still, arms crossed over his chest, staring at Leon a little too intently like he was trying to read his mind.

Leon glanced up, realizing he had drifted away in his thoughts again and was just sitting there at the island counter, staring at his glass of water. Leon tried for his usual sassy tone, but it came out breathless. He was dizzy. “Chris?”

Chris frowned. “You weren't paying attention. Again. What the hell's going on in that head of yours?”

Leon shrugged, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes dropped back to the counter. He needed to tell Chris _something._ If he couldn't outright warn anyone that Krauser was planning an attack with Plagas, then he needed to figure out a way around the order before Krauser could fill in any exploitable loopholes and further bind Leon from reaching out. He needed to get the information across before something happened to Chris, before Leon himself turned feral, before the rest of the world was at stake. _I need to speak up now before it's too late._

“Chris.” Leon said suddenly, eyes still on the counter. His mouth was suddenly dry. _It's three simple words. Three simple words, and something can be done about this. Just admit it._ Leon inhaled deeply, eyes sliding back up to Chris, who was waiting patiently for him to speak. Leon suddenly glanced away, mouth shut and not because the Plaga was denying him. He struggled for another second before shame washed over him.

He couldn't say it. It was obvious on his face that the words were stuck in his throat.

“Whatever it is that's going on in your head, I know it's hard.” Chris said after a prolonged moment. He chuckled humorlessly. “You just gotta learn how to pass over control sometimes, Leon. Whatever you tell me, stays here. I won't even tell my sister the details. I can help you if you need it, but only if you let me in.”

Leon's throat constricted, eyebrows creasing. To Chris, it probably looked like Leon was appalled at the idea of speaking up. To Chris, it probably looked like Leon was trying to come to terms with his drinking habits and only his drinking habits. To Chris, this wasn't considered life-threatening – yet – and it wasn't a crisis.

The tingle in Leon's fingers suddenly started to get worse, anxiety building up in his chest. He didn't know. He didn't know what was going to happen, and he didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he didn't know how to approach this situation. In Spain, he had stuck to the mission to at least try and save Ashley even if it killed him, and they had gotten lucky. But now? There was no mission except for Krauser's. He was just coasting from one shitty situation straight into the next.

His spiked heart rate seemed to irritate the Plaga, because Leon felt it _move._ He was going to die, whether the Plaga killed him before Krauser could, or before Leon used his own gun to prevent him from ruining everything. _If Krauser tells me not to, I won't._

“I need to tell you something.” Leon glanced up, not sure what he planned to say next, but he needed to do the right thing for the safety of the _country_ , which meant he needed to be honest even if his privacy had to be invaded. If Krauser had a partner and plans and was running around with Plagas, it was likely Leon was the only one in the position to stop them before they became a threat to the public. Leon just needed to find the loophole, needed to figure out how to _tell Chris_ without being denied by the Plaga.

 _I trust Chris. Just tell him what happened last night without specifying Krauser or the Plaga or a plague. Easy-peasy._ There was no one else Leon could trust with this. He didn't have time for Claire to come back and he couldn't just waltz into a hospital and demand an X-ray.

Leon needed to do the right thing. He wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise.

“What is it?” Chris asked gently, rousing Leon from within his head. Again.

“I...” Leon drawled, frowning in confusion because _why was this so damn hard?_

Chris stared at him, before frowning. “You?”

 _I was raped._ Leon's mouth went dry, his eyes straying back to the glass of water. It was worse that Leon _knew_ Krauser. It was worse that he knew that it wasn’t a one time thing. His mouth was stuck shut, refused to open and work properly. Leon flinched as the Plaga shifted inside of him. _You will not tell, or allude to anyone that you saw me or that we had contact._

Leon inhaled gently, chuckling nervously because his words wouldn't come and suddenly, admitting it didn't seem appropriate. Chris would never connect the dots anyway. Rape would never lead to the conclusion of men back from the dead and Plagas. Admitting it wouldn't solve anything, would it? No. Leon needed to find another way, something else to say.

“Um. Okay. Maybe I'm really bad at this? Can we start this conversation over? Thanks for breakfast. I always assumed you Redfield's ate raw meat to start your day before going out and terrorizing terrorists.”

Chris chuckled, trying to play along with the lightened mood. “Yeah, yeah, poke fun at my breakfast all you want, but I'm on to you. You suck at this but I'm not going to let you dodge the conversation. Do you want to play twenty questions?”

 _God damn it, Chris._ Leon was what? Caught drunk off his ass and taken advantage of? Sought out in revenge because he was in the optimal position to do the most damage? The words refused to leave Leon's mouth, and not because the Plaga was denying him from sharing them. Leon's voice died, his own insecurity holding him back, keeping him silent. He didn't know what would happen if he admitted it out loud, didn't know if it would save him and everyone, or just make everything worse. Leon's thoughts drifted back to Krauser in his own bedroom. He'd gotten _hard_ watching Leon submit to his panic, to the Plaga. Some kind of horror must have shown on Leon's face, because Chris was suddenly a step closer, his expression concerned.

“No. Actually. I think I'll drink on it. You probably suck just as bad as Claire does at twenty questions anyway.” Leon said simply, still trying to work out his own thoughts. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing again, but his mouth refused to open.

“Okay… but do you want to try _not_ drinking on it? Maybe… I don't know… meditate?” Chris asked.

When Leon opened his eyes, Chris was sitting on the stool beside him again, leaning against the island counter. He was staring intently at Leon's face, watching him like the slightest change in expression might give everything away.

Leon refrained from reaching for his glass. His mouth was alarmingly dry. He didn't know how to _explain_. How the hell could he get around this? He was going to have to lie. He was going to have to come up with something clever to point Chris in the right direction while still abiding by the orders' rules, but he didn't know _how_ _._ He didn't know what to say, or how to say it to get anyone on Krauser's tail, or better yet, to get Leon under an X-Ray and the Plaga out of him. How much time did he have? He was so fucking worried he'd suddenly turn feral, he suddenly felt sick.

“Leon, you have to give me something to work with. You've been acting really strange since last night, and I hate to admit it out loud to you, but I'm worried.” Chris said when Leon didn't elaborate, his eyes lingering on Leon's face. They were sitting there awkwardly, toeing around the issue at hand.

Leon hesitated again, unsure of his best move again. The words were on the tip of his tongue, and maybe Leon was more upset about the rape than he thought he had been. Krauser… at one point Leon has trusted Krauser. Had mourned the man twice, both times as the man Leon had ruined. He had genuinely loved Krauser, at least in the platonic sense.

But then Krauser did _this._

He glanced over to Chris beside him, his throat tight. He let emotion leech onto his face, didn't know what else to do, what to even say. He couldn't explain. He couldn't even _speak._

“What aren't you saying?” Chris asked quietly. He sounded unsure now and Leon wasn't sure why. “What didn't you tell me about last night?”

“It's...” Leon trailed off, eyes shifting. He was annoyed, annoyed with himself and with Chris. He clicked his tongue, breathing heavily. He was so fucking bad at this. He could kill a BOW with an empty gun and nothing but a combat knife, but telling someone about his struggles? _I'm infected with a Plaga and Jack Krauser is the one who did it._ He could say that. He could _fucking_ say that, no problem. He would have gone straight to STRATCOM last night and _said this._ But he _couldn't_. Literally couldn't tell the truth because of the Plaga. And the only way to admit to the Plaga and Krauser was to either come up with some wild, complex lie that somehow, without _alluding_ , alluded to Krauser, or he? Or he _what?_ What could he do? What could he say? His thoughts were running in circles, leaving him dizzy.

Maybe there was another way? Maybe Leon's lack of sleep had left him with tunnel vision, bouncing around the same ideas instead of looking outside of the box.

“Okay,” Chris said, drawing Leon from his head _once again_ , “how about you tell me what happened to your face?”

“I was hit.” Leon said automatically. A breath rushed out of him like the admittance had carried weight and left him lighter. _Maybe Chris is good at twenty questions after all._

“What?” Chris asked, his tone and expression immediately shocked. “Who?”

 _Wrong question._ Leon raised his glass to his lips, finishing off the glass. Why the hell was he so thirsty?

Apparently Leon had taken too long to spill the beans, because his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He jumped, pulling it out, forgetting he even had it on him. _Work always knows exactly when to interrupt me._

“Hold that thought.” Chris said, his eyes locked on Leon as Leon reached for his pocket.

“I guess it's just not meant to be.” Leon muttered in response, placing a hand to his forehead as he answered his phone without even checking the caller ID. Chris stood up from the stool and reached for Leon's empty glass, his expression unreadable as he moved to the sink. Leon clicked the button, catching the name of his screen before putting the phone to his ear.

“Hey.” Leon said.

“Hey, how are you?” It was Claire, using a tone that Leon was familiar with, a tone she used only when he was in trouble. Leon couldn't help but crack a tiny smile. This was better than work. This was okay.

“Can't say I'm too bad.” Leon said, fake confidence despite the conversation he had just been trying to have. He glanced over to Chris filling up his glass of water again, confliction twisting in his gut. He turned away slightly like Chris wouldn't overhear him. “Your brother made me shower in exchange for breakfast like he picked me up in an alley or something.”

“I do love strays.” Chris commented from the sink. Leon snorted.

“Oh, you ate! That's good.” Claire said quickly, excitement lacing her tone. “I was worried about you. Chris didn't call me last night like he said he would. Sometimes I think he's a monkey and all he thinks about are bananas. Are you okay? You scared the shit out of me last night.”

“I'm fine.” Leon said with a sigh. His eyes flickered down to the floor. “It's fine, Claire. Look, I'm sorry-”

“Don't start with me.” Claire said sharply, silencing Leon instantly. “I'm not going to pull my punches just because you're trying to apologize, Leon. I don't want you to apologize because you're stuck in this awful loop where you promise to get better and then you just get worse again. I'd rather have you call me like you did last night than try and deal with something like that alone.”

“I know.” Leon said quietly, his humor fading fast.

“It's okay.” Claire said. “Okay, I'll stop yelling at you. You don't need this. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important.”

Leon chuckled at that, turning away in his chair. “No. You're fine.”

“Okay, good. So.” Claire said, sounding excited again. “I'm coming home for a couple weeks of vacation with Chris, granted neither of us get called in for the next Big Thing. I should be there Wednesday night. Chris is picking me up at the airport. Will I see you?”

“Maybe. I've been here for a solid twelve hours now, so maybe I'm a permanent resident already.” Leon said, his mood perking up considerably at the prospect of seeing Claire, before falling again. He was suddenly worried. _What if she isn't safe here? What if I end up hurting her, willingly or unwillingly?_ _Maybe I should just go drown in work?_

_Fucking Krauser. I'll skin him alive._

“Yeah, you better come by, or I'll have to come and find _you._ ” Claire threatened, all with good intentions. Leon chuckled, nervous.

“I promise I'll come by at least once.” Leon said, but his expression changed into something sad. “If you guys are on vacation, you should just-”

“Oh, don't even start. I know what you're doing.” Claire said. “You're part of the family too, Leon Scott Kennedy Redfield. So accept the fact that once I get there, I'm going to sort you out. We're too old to keep playing this game, Leon. You've dealt with too much loss in your life and the isolation only made it all worse. You need to stop drinking and you need to let one of us in your miserable little bubble.”

“I keep telling you that I'm fine.” Leon said, annoyed without any real bite to it.

“No you're not, Leon. You scared me this time.” Claire said, her voice changing and Leon suddenly felt wary like a cornered animal. He had scared Claire, and her fear was reflecting in her voice.

“Leon.” Claire said, her voice still tinged with that awful emotion. “I'm asking if you need help. Real help. It's a yes or no question, and I know you love being a shit disturber and dodging the serious topics, but I want a serious answer.”

Leon looked away from the phone, face scrunching up in annoyance before his gaze settled on Chris. Chris was busying himself cleaning, pretending like he wasn't eavesdropping. Leon sighed, expression falling as he looked back down. Claire silently let him take the time to come to terms with his admittance.

“Help might be nice.” Leon whispered, emotions welling dangerously in his chest. He suddenly felt overwhelmed again, the softness of his voice strained with it.

“Good. I won't let you down, Leon. You can count on me!” Claire said, and how was anyone supposed to be miserable with that attitude of hers? “Now behave yourself until I get there, and tell Chris to behave too! Behave! And please. Call me. I'm serious. Even if you're just feeling a bit down, I'll be here. Anyway, I have to go get some things done before I can go, I was just calling to make sure you were okay and that Chris didn't kill you with his protein shakes.”

“Don't worry, he didn't even offer me one of his suspicious protein shakes.” Leon said, loud enough for Chris to hear. “And even if he did, I can tell the difference between food and black matter.”

“There's nothing wrong with my protein shakes.” Chris said automatically like he was used to the harassment. “They're good for you.”

“There's no way in Hell they're good for you.” Leon said over his shoulder.

“Well, sounds like the two of you are getting along great.” Claire said. “Maybe you can get some time off too? Anyway, I have to go. I hope to see you sometime soon! Oh, and Leon?”

“Yeah?” Leon asked, sitting a little taller as he spun back around to the counter. He felt more conflicted than he had before Claire had called. He felt like a problem. Oh shit, he _was_ a problem now, wasn't he?

“You know you can survive anything, right?” Claire asked. “You always pull through.”

Leon's mouth went dry, eyes flickering back down. “I'm not so sure.”

“I have faith that you'll do the right thing.” Claire said. “Okay, I really have to go now, take care! I'll call you tomorrow again like a really needy girlfriend! Tell my monkey brother to call me!”

_I have faith that you'll do the right thing._

They mumbled their goodbyes in a way that could have sounded like they were an old, grumbling married couple. Leon hung up with a heavy sigh, feeling more tired than earlier but also relieved. Claire didn't hate him, and right now, the little things were making him feel way better. Until they weren't.

“Well, what did Mother say?” Chris teased, and Leon immediately chuckled.

“You're on vacation?” Leon asked, standing up from the stool. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. The Redfield's were on vacation, which meant they were sitting ducks. Which meant if Leon was ordered to do something unspeakable, both Redfield's would be _home_ , curled up on the couch, watching Netflix _._ Suddenly, Leon wondered about how convenient this was. Krauser and a partner with Plagas? Catching Leon on his only day off? Which happened to be the same weekend the Redfield's ended up on vacation together? _Are they in danger? Have they been in danger from the start?_ The only way to crumble Krauser's plans was to remove the Plaga. _Krauser never said I couldn't kill him… But t_ _he Plaga is my first concern. Don't lose focus._

“You should be relaxing, not babysitting me.” Leon said. He really needed to relax _himself._ He was going to stress himself sick before the end of the day, his mind suddenly conjuring up gruesome ideas on how to get rid of the Plaga residing within him.

Chris laughed, an actual bark of laughter. “I mean, babysitting isn't that far of a stretch. You're like a toddler trying to get away with hiding his messes.”

“Don't be a dick about it. I need to do something.” Leon said, his tone odd, even to his own ears. He needed to sort his shit out, and he needed to do it fast, whether he killed Krauser first or removed the Plaga from his own chest. He was suddenly feeling anxious, suddenly feeling like he was trapped. He needed to get up. Needed to move. “I need to go for a walk or something. If you don't mind me coming and going, I think I'll go out. Get some fresh air.”

“You okay?” Chris asked, suddenly suspicious. Leon could hear it in his tone that he suspected the worst.

“You guys keep asking me that.” Leon said, and he knew he sounded a touch annoyed. “You already know the answer to that, so why do you keep asking? It's not helpful.”

Chris sighed, shrugging. “I don't know, maybe we're concerned? And you just told me-”

“I'm going. I need to go.” Leon said. He turned away quickly, heading back to Claire's bedroom without another word, trying not to obviously flee the situation. His heart rate was picking up, thoughts on loop, hid hands cold as his breath rushed out of him. _What can I do?_ _What do I do?_

“Do you want me to come with you?” Chris called after him conversationally. “We could go out somewhere? I have to go get groceries and some stuff. It'll be nice. The weather is kinda shitty, you know?”

From the doorway to the bedroom, Leon glanced over his shoulder at Chris, trying to decide what he wanted. He wanted the Plaga out. First and foremost, everything else be damned, that parasite needed to come _out_ whether he did it himself or not. Even if he didn't successfully cut the Plaga out or stab it, if he got caught trying, he'd be forced into medical care.

It was a win-win.

Unless he accidentally killed himself. _Even then, it's still a win-win._

Leon's face must have twisted into something pathetic and sad and lonely, because Chris' expression softened.

“Leon, wait-”

“I need fresh air.” Leon stated, suddenly appalled by his own thoughts. No. He wouldn't cut out the Plaga. He would cut out Krauser's heart first and make sure that fucker was _deader_ than dead.

Leon disappeared into the bedroom. He grabbed his backpack, not sure where he was going to go or what he really was going to do. Would he come back? Could he actually make up his damn mind? Or would he just walk until his ass hurt too much and he was winded and miserable? End up at his favorite bar, slamming back hard liquor again?

_I can't ignore this, but what can I do?_

“Are you coming back?” Chris called. At least he wasn't pushing for Leon to stay.

“I don't know. I'll message you if I do. Thanks for breakfast, but your fruit is really suspicious and wrinkly, you should buy fresh ones.” Leon said when he emerged from the room, knowing he sounded just as flighty and panicked as he felt. His thoughts were spinning out of control and he knew he needed to stay, he knew he needed to be with someone, now more than ever. _I have faith that you'll do the right thing._

What could he do? Besides cutting the Plaga out himself and sniping Krauser down from a rooftop? They were the only rules that worked in Leon's favor that Krauser hadn't denied him.

Leon left with his bag and the STARS Jacket, glancing over his shoulder almost remorsefully. And when he hastily left through the front door, Chris couldn't help but frown, unsure if he should have let Leon go so easily.


	5. Just Because You Don't Know What You're Doing Doesn't Mean You're Not Doing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krauser isn't finished with Leon yet, but Leon's met an old friend with some words of cryptic wisdom.

Leon's behavior had Chris worried, rightfully so, but there wasn't much Chris could do to _stop him_ from leaving _._ If Leon didn't want help, then he couldn't be helped. It was as simple as that.

Chris grit his teeth in frustration.

After the solo-agent fled in a rush, Chris quickly cleaned up his kitchen before disappearing into his office to boot up his laptop. He sat in the comfy desk chair Claire had picked out for them, resting his head back for a moment with closed eyes after pressing the power button a little harder than he intended to, just trying to go over what had happened over the past day. That was all it had been, hadn't it? One whole day? How could one man cause so much chaos? Between Leon and that report Chris had yet to write, Chris wasn't sure if he was going to even be able to _relax_ for the next couple of weeks. By Wednesday, his sister would be back in the city too, would be sure to keep him on his toes. He smiled though. He couldn't say he hated it.

 _I'm not bitter, I'm just tired._ After another day or two of proper rest, Chris wouldn't be so short about it all. The first forty-eight hours were always the hardest after all.

The second his laptop loaded, Chris opened up his email, index finer tapping quickly at the button in impatience. Nivans had been the one to write down most of the key points the night before, _thank God_ , but now that Chris was looking at them, he wasn't sure what they all meant. What had happened again? They hadn't been in France for long, the situation bordering on false-alarm. Sighing, Chris dug into his pocket for his phone, wondering if the younger agent was up this early. Leon had fled, leaving behind nothing but tension and discord. Chris didn't want to dwell on it.

 _Might as well work_ _._ Chris dialed Nivans' number, not surprised when Nivans answered on the second ring.

“Good morning, Captain.” Nivans said cheerfully. “You wanna bang out that report now at the downtown Starbucks?”

Chris chuckled, spinning around to face the door like Leon might just come slinking back. “How'd you know?”

–

Outside on the street with the gloomy grey clouds threatening rain, Leon acknowledged that he was paranoid. He almost regretted leaving Chris' apartment. The dreary contrast of the outdoors compared to the warmth inside instantly dampened Leon's confidence. He felt exposed as he walked down the street, his muscles already sore from overuse. He felt like he was being stalked, like someone was watching him, following him from the shadows even though he knew this was unlikely. How had Krauser managed to find him in the first place? He had to have been following Leon, right? Stalking from afar, never too close for Leon to even _suspect_ he was there?

_I need to get inside._

It didn't take Leon long to catch a cab back home, rushing in through the front doors to his apartment like he was fleeing from a horde of zombies. He took the stairs two at a time to his floor as fast as he could, wary of small spaces like the elevator, before pausing in the empty hallway just outside of his own apartment door. Breathing heavily from his rush, he glanced around himself, noting his behavior, knowing what it meant. The coast was clear, but the hairs on the back of his neck were still standing, the constant sense of danger lurking in the back of his mind. Maybe he was just cold? He cautiously checked his door handle to make sure it was still locked, briefly contemplating his paranoia and understanding where it had come from. _This is a little unnecessary._

He was being dramatic, he _knew_ he was being dramatic, but he drew Matilda before entering his own apartment, stepping inside and instantly turning on the entrance light. He made a quick sweep of every room, every light coming on to make sure that the space was clear and no one was hiding in the shadows. His kitchenette and living room shared the same space, so there were only four rooms to look around in total. His bathroom was small, all tight spaces where someone couldn't really hide. His bedroom was an absolute mess but there wasn't much for furniture, his bed so low to the ground that not even a Licker could hide under there. He checked every nook and cranny regardless. With Umbrella, he never knew what tiny monster they might unleash next. Hell, _tiny_ monsters might even be worse than the giant ones, might be more efficient as spreading a virus too.

_Like the rats down in the Raccoon sewers..._

Leon's closet was clear, just like his storage room. All of his windows were still locked, his front door locked behind him on his way in. He even checked the pantry.

It didn't take long for him to settle in the living room, running a hand through his soft hair as he sighed heavily. He reminded himself that he was better than this. After Raccoon city it had been understandable to check every corner for shadows, to wake up after a cat nap and hold his breath, listening for the distant thud of ominous footfalls. After Raccoon city, he'd had a few extra problems and life-impacting impulses that he hadn't had a name for and it had been completely normal. Now? He was too old for this shit.

Sighing, Leon pushed Matilda back into the waistband of his pants and tossed his backpack onto the couch, rubbing his hands over his face again, eyes closed as he internally ridiculed himself for reacting so crazily. He really was too old for this shit. He needed to keep his composure. He needed to keep his thoughts clear so he could figure out what he was going to do about all of _this_.

_Get yourself together!_

After a breath, Leon came to a decision. He headed back towards his bedroom muttering under his breath, eyes wary on the ajar door. He wanted his laptop so he could start digging through STRATCOM's files on the Plagas, and maybe even the Tyrants orders, could start digging to see if there was something in there on what he could _do._ Any little tidbit to spark some creativity. As far as he knew, he hadn't turned feral yet, and even if Krauser had the Dominant Species Plaga, Leon hadn't felt any loyalty to the man. He had been able to try and deny him outside of the explicit orders, and oh what a feeling denying _Jack Krauser_ was. As far as Leon knew, right now, Krauser had to verbally give him explicitly stated orders and Leon could, to a degree, try and defy them. Krauser couldn't just telepathically communicate to Leon what he wanted to be done, and Leon was sure he still had loopholes. He was still in control of most of his thoughts, still in control of his body, and he wasn't turning feral.

_Yet._

Unsure, Leon stepped into his bedroom and flipped the light on. His eyes scanned the mess before they landed on the silver laptop half-buried beneath week-old clothes. Stepping into the room, the discomfort that settled over him, his hairs standing on end, only made him angry now. He had been drunk last night, yes, had been making the same liquor mistakes for the past few months, but he hadn't deserved _this._

 _Krauser isn't_ _going to ruin_ _my h_ _ome_ _for me. I can hardly sleep as is. I won't let_ _him_ _make it worse._ Temporarily forgetting about the laptop, Leon marched up this bed still muttering, dragging the blanket and sheets off, everything that he could carry. He dragged them out of the room and into the storage closet that also doubled as a laundry room, aggressively shoving the bedding into the machine. Take that. Five minutes later and he was back in his bedroom, stripping the rest of the sheets and the pillowcases and hell, he would even throw in the _pillows_ _themselves_ while he was at it, before he turned to the mess on his floor. He quickly filled his laundry hamper with dirty clothes, amazed at how much floor space he had acquired in the blink of an eye before his gaze landed on the quarter-full bottle of whiskey on his end table. He was already up and cleaning, so he might as well clean everything else, right? Fresh start?

He knew this cycle. He would be motivated to do better, would clean up, would behave for a day or two. And then all of a sudden he'd have a bottle in his hands and it would be all over again.

Like every other time, he just hoped this time would be different.

With a garbage bag, he cleared the mess out from his apartment while verbally testing his limits with the Plaga, what he could say, what he couldn't. Not a single bottle of whiskey was left to be seen, neither full nor empty, and not a single word indicating chest pains or otherwise had been able to leave his mouth. While he was at it, he figured he _might as well_ vacuum. And then vacuuming turned into doing the dishes, which turned into switching out the laundry, which turned into Leon sprawled out against his couch, exhausted and annoyed, staring at his ceiling. He was tired now, waiting for the dry cycle to end on his sheets and pillows, and in hindsight, he should have washed the sheets _first._ Oh well. His home was clean and it even smelled cleaner, but he still felt like shit and he hadn't even touched his laptop to investigate his problem. Maybe he needed a nap.

 _Am I avoiding it?_ Time was of the essence, what the hell was he doing?

Sighing, Leon closed his eyes for a second of rest, just as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket again. Likely, it was Chris, wondering if Leon was coming back, if not Claire to check in on him again. Or, as he answered it without checking the caller ID, it could be work. He wouldn't have been surprised by any of those options. Regardless, he needed to sound okay, if not to only convince _himself._

“Hey.” He said neutrally, eyes still closed. He would get his laptop after to investigate his _problem_ while he finished laundry and then he would feel better Yes, that was a good idea. And then maybe, just maybe, he'd go back to see Chris with a plan of action. Because that's why he had left in the first place, right? Because he didn't know what to do and he really wanted to make an educated decision right now and he didn't want to panic and stab himself in the chest, trying to fish the Plaga out himself.

“Hey, Leon. How's your ass?”

Leon's eyes flew open, his heart stopping. _Krauser._ When his heart started to pound again, it sped up, stress and worry suddenly flooding every nerve in Leon's body. Krauser had his phone number. Leon wasn't sure how Krauser had gotten it, but now that Leon thought about it, Krauser could probably track his phone, had probably been _tracking_ his phone this whole time. Maybe that was how he knew where he was? Leon sat up, glancing toward the windows like he expected Krauser to be there, standing on the fire escape, tapping at the glass. _Did he bug my house? Is he watching me right now?_ _Was that how he knew I was home?_

“No need to get tongue-tied, comrade. I have an order for you.” Krauser said, his voice low and grumbling, enjoying every moment of this. He sounded amused, so damn amused. He was already drunk on power, and Leon hardly listened to him.

“No.” Leon said, his voice much sassier than expected. He hung up with a gasp, his heart rate skyrocketing. _I can't, I can't do it._ He dropped his phone onto his coffee table before standing up, confused for a split second before his feet started to move on autopilot. He rushed through his apartment to his bedroom, grabbing his laptop and charger from off his dresser because it was the only reason why he was _here,_ before rushing back to his couch. He hurriedly shoved his laptop into his bag with jerky movements. He grabbed the STARS jacket from the back of the couch and threw it on, before glancing back over his shoulder at his phone, wondering if he should turn it off. _Krauser knows where I live anyway._ But the idea that Krauser might come over here and _take_ his phone, might somehow gain access to it should Leon leave it behind, suddenly made Leon stalk back over to it. If Krauser could go through his messages, he would know where Leon was anyway, would be able to learn who Leon was in contact with, would be able to answer anyone who calls, and that just wasn't okay. Leon wouldn't endanger anyone with his own stubbornness or stupidity. He couldn't. He grabbed his phone and, with some difficulty, pulled the back off, stealing his SIM and battery out of it. He left the phone as it was on the coffee table in pieces, wondering if this made him paranoid or worse.

He didn't have time to debate.

Leon left quickly, locking the door behind him. He didn't take the apartment's back exit because that was where Krauser would be looking for him and the alley was a good place to get cornered. Instead, Leon drew the hood of his sweater to hide his hair as he disappeared through the front door, quickly slinking into the thin crowd.

“Shit.” He was wearing Chris' jacket, which stood out like a sore thumb and, in a way, identified him as a person of interest. He didn't want to turn around and risking going back for a change of clothes, however, so he just did his best to disappear in the shitty cold weather before inevitably ending up at one of his favorite places after a half-hour of aimless fleeing. He was unnecessarily scared to go back to Chris', to lead Krauser straight there. Was self-doubting his current situation and sort of didn't have a phone, so he couldn't call Claire either. He'd been _thirsty_ since last night in more ways than one, so this would just help him think a little clearer. These were his excuses. Or maybe he was here for liquid courage.

Leon slid into the warm bar, his body uncomfortably chilled, taking a seat at the counter in the corner. It was around sixteen-hundred, so the bar wasn't very full. If Krauser had been watching him and wanted a fight, wanted to take him, then Leon wanted the man in public. On camera. Witnesses. Something for Hunnigan to go through and inevitably realize _oh, there's a man back from the dead. That's probably bad news._

Leon sighed, setting his bag down gently on the counter against the wall beside him before leaning forward on his elbows, face in his hands. What a fucking mess. He couldn't decide if he had ever been this stressed out in his entire life or if that first time back in Raccoon City had been worse. The bartender moved down towards him, clearing his throat to alert Leon to his presence.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked, just as Leon lowered his hands from his face, glancing up from underneath his hood. The bartender made a noise in recognition before smiling at him. “The usual?”

“The usual. Actually, make it a double.” Leon said, half bitter he was drinking already and it wasn't even dinner time, half reminding himself that he never said he would quit drinking today so it was okay. He was having a shit day, to be completely honest. A drink was acceptable. He didn't know what else to do.

Thirty seconds later, Leon had a glass of whiskey in front of him, and he cradled it in between his cold hands as he contemplated what had just happened, what had led him _here_. He took a sip, wondering what he needed to do, realizing that since last night, he'd been acting a little _chaotically._ It wasn't like him. _This_ wasn't like him. He'd grown to be more organized than this. But he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he went running straight back to Chris and Krauser showed up at his door and ruined everything. Leon wouldn't be able to face Claire if anything happened to her brother because of him, except he _would,_ and it would be the hardest thing he would ever do, the hardest thing he would ever have to live with _._

Leon felt a little cornered.

_Cornered._ _Just how Krauser wants me._

Three doubles later, and Leon wondered if he really needed a fourth. He had spun around in his chair, eyes watching as everyone filtered in and out, making sure none of them were muscular blue-eyed blondes with nasty scars on their faces. What the hell was he doing? He was wasting time, wasting energy. He should have stopped at a payphone and called Chris. _Except I don't have his number now. I should have thought ahead._

It was when Leon spun back around to get his fourth glass, his skin crawling at the memory of Krauser's hands, that someone sat down beside him. Leon instantly glanced over to the stranger warily. His suspicion was instantly replaced with surprise, which instantly morphed back into suspicion.

“Long time no see, Stranger.”

Leon's lips parted, a smile instantly cracking across his face as the cloaked figure beside him glanced over, nothing more than his vibrant blue eyes visible from beneath his hood. How he hadn't been kicked out already for looking horribly suspicious, Leon might never know. But then again, this suspicious-looking man had also snuck around an infected village without attracting attention to himself.

“Holy shit.” Leon said, breaking out into a grin as his eyes roamed over the familiar cloak of the Merchant he had met back in Spain. “Never thought I'd see you again.”

“And I you. It's a pleasure.” The Merchant laughed, his voice low and gravely, but pleasant in ways Krauser's wasn't. He raised his hand to attract the bartender, the back of it scarred, ordering himself a beer and a refill for Leon. The bartender glanced to Leon, hesitating like he always did on the fourth glass, especially with these one being doubles, before doing it anyway.

Once they had their drinks, Leon was graced with a profile view as the Merchant pulled back his hood and pulled down his bandana, taking a slow sip of his beer. The Merchant was older, his short facial hair coarse and shaggy. His hair was long and streaked with grey, messily pulled back into a loose ponytail, cheekbones and jawline strong and cut sharp. Leon had always wondered what the man looked like beneath that hood, and now that he was seeing his face for the first time, he still felt like he recognized him. He was familiar, and in some odd way, the Merchant felt _safe._

Hell, the man had never even given him his real name. Leon's priorities must have been really off-point.

The Merchant glanced over, caught Leon obviously staring at him, drinking in every pockmark and silver scar. The man smirked, wrinkles around his eyes and lips. “Like what you see, Stranger?”

Leon chuckled in embarrassment, caught and at a loss of words. He whipped his head away to his own drink. He hadn't intended to ogle, had just been amazed to finally see the man's actual face. Leon lifted his glance, stuttering out his response. “Just… surprised.”

“Well, I still like what I see.” The Merchant said forwardly. He continued on when Leon whipped his attention to him like he hadn't said anything at all, a smile splitting his mouth open. The Merchant barked a laugh, Leon obviously flustered and over-thinking now.

“Fancy that we ran into each other after all these years. It's always nice to see a familiar Stranger in a strange world.” The Merchant said, smoothly carrying the conversation on when Leon's comeback stuck in his throat.

What the hell, was he losing his charm? He used to have flirtatious comebacks in his back pocket to be used at a moment's notice. He'd been a real charmer when he was younger. Now he was charming in the way that made people instantly irked or threatening to hit him.

“I bet. You're a long way from Spain and swindling the locals.” Leon said, his eyebrows suddenly furrowing. _Wait. The last time I saw the Merchant was after I was injected with the Plaga..._

“Indeed, I am.” The Merchant agreed. “Ran out of good-paying customers over there thanks to a certain someone, so I thought mayhaps I'd try my luck over here. Heard from a little birdie that I might find someone in need, and it seems I might have found someone in need.”

Leon glanced over to the Merchant's baggy cloak, eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. “You packing under that cloak?”

“Always.” The Merchant laughed. “You in need of some heat, Mr. Agent?”

Leon laughed back, sipping at his whiskey. “Always.”

“Then I might have something for you. More than just heat, mayhaps.” The Merchant said, his eyes still fixed on Leon, those bright blues almost glowing in the dim light. Leon swallowed, suddenly wary of the way the man was looking at him.

Leon swirled his drink, half-lidded eyes still locked on the Merchant. He wasn't drunk. Soon, but not quite yet. But he couldn't read between the man's lines. Was he just being weird, or was Leon just being paranoid? Was the Merchant coming onto him or was Leon just hyper-focusing?

“What are you offering?” Leon asked, his tone dipping just to play along, because he suddenly felt like the Merchant was here for other reasons too. It was too coincidental that Leon had been infected with a Plaga less than twenty-four hours ago, and now here the Merchant was. It was too coincidental that Leon, isolated at home and at work for months on end, had suddenly come into contact with _both_ Redfield's, a dead man, and now a stranger he had met once upon a time, all within twenty-four hours. Leon felt like he was in Spain all over again, except this time, the stakes were way higher.

“What am I offering for _you_?” The Merchant asked, eyes sliding over Leon as he tipped back his beer. “Mayhaps a warning about a common enemy, and anything in my arsenal that may catch your eye. All for a price, of course.”

 _A common enemy?_ “How much?” Leon asked, suspicious. He leaned in a little closer.

“Depends on what you want.” The Merchant said, setting his empty bottle down. He glanced Leon's way, his smile still spread wide. “If you're not sure, you can come back any time. I'll be around for a few days. Unfortunately, this is America, and I won't be able to find you at your next stop like I did back in Spain. You will have to come and find me, should I be of use to you.”

“What enemy?” Leon asked. He immediately wished he hadn't asked because the Merchant's eyes suddenly drifted down to Leon's chest, lingering, before flickering back up, a wider smirk spreading across the older man's face. He gave Leon a _look_ , those glowing blue eyes almost haunting in the dimness of the bar.

Leon glanced away, back to his own drink. He was glad his cheeks were already flushed, because he suddenly felt ashamed again. He took another sip, hurrying to finish. He was surprised when his next words easily left his mouth. Leon was talking about the Plaga, but his words were generic enough that he wasn't necessarily alluding. “How come I'm running into you again like this?”

“Coincidence.” The Merchant said as Leon took another sip. “Mayhaps I have a sixth sense.”

“Mayhaps.” Leon repeated the word, laughing at how lame it sounded coming from his own mouth without the accent. He glanced back over, letting his best puppy-look onto his face just so he could get what he wanted. “Fine. I'll bite. I'll come lend an ear and take a look, but not here. Where are you staying?”

In hindsight, five minutes later on the street, Leon realized that downing his whiskey on an empty stomach probably hadn't been a good idea and maybe agreeing to go back with the Merchant to his hotel room hadn't been wise. His head had started to spin as he walked, his thoughts locked on how his STARS jacket and the Merchant's out-of-this-world attire stood out like sore thumbs. That cloak would get the man arrested just for looking suspicious, and now that Leon thought about it, there had always been _something_ about the Merchant that had made Leon feel slightly intimidated. But he wasn't worried about the Merchant or the police, Leon was worried about Krauser and his mysterious friend.

Nervously, Leon drew up his hood to hide his hair, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by the Merchant.

“I'm staying in the new hotel downtown.” The Merchant said, glancing over in amusement, eyes sliding over Leon's hood. “You look like a man trying to obviously hide something, Mr. Agent. Got someone at your back?”

“Something like that.” Leon slurred. Shit. He was drunk. How was he drunk? Was it because he shot those glasses back so fast when he usually sipped on them over the course of a few hours?

“We'll cab. Not as efficient as secret passageways, but it will be faster.” The Merchant said, one steady hand wrapping around Leon's elbow to balance him when he swayed. Leon flinched at the contact, eyes dropping down. He considered pulling away, but his head was spinning and he didn't want to fall and make a fool of himself. Plus, he needed the information. So he leaned in, letting the Merchant balance him. _Shit, what was I thinking? I should have gone straight back to Chris'. But what i_ _f_ _Krauser found me there? What if Krauser_ _already knows about Chris and went there first?_ _He wouldn't. Why would he?_ _Oh shit. Don't think about it._

In the back of the cab on their way to the hotel, they joked about Spain to keep Leon's anxiety at bay. They recounted some of the crazy things Leon had done, like how he had almost been eaten alive by the lake monster after wasting a bullet into the water, and stories about how the Merchant had managed to slither his way around without being detected by an infected village. The Merchant didn't tell him _how_ he had gotten around so fast, but it sounded like he had a non-magical excuse. Leon had told him his magical theories, leaning into the Merchant's side as he laughed.

The Grand Memories Hotel was brand new. It had opened up only a month ago, was classier than any hotel STRATCOM would ever pay for. It looked like a palace from the outside, standing tall and glittering ominously in the dreary grey backdrop of the sky that was only darkening. Leon followed the Merchant into the building behind a trickle of other people, eyes wide as he glanced around the large foyer. He felt like he was in that castle back in Spain all over again, just this time, the castle was made of marble and not stone, and its occupants weren't hostile. For now.

“Keep your drool in your mouth, Stranger.” The Merchant teased as they headed into the hallway past the front desk. Leon was too busy analyzing his surroundings – he wasn't impressed, he was worried, there was a difference – to realize the Merchant was holding open the door to an elevator for him. Before Leon could protest, he was stepping inside the enclosed space, his heart leaping in his chest. He could hold his liquor, could fake it until he made it, but the thought of stairs sounded like a tripping hazard, and the Merchant seemed to see right through him. But that didn't mean Leon really _wanted_ to use the elevator instead.

The elevator door slid closed before Leon could say anything, and Leon drifted to the corner on high alert, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as the Merchant jabbed the button for the thirteenth floor. Leon sidled against the wall closer to the man, elbow brushing cloak, eyes flickering up.

“Isn't that floor bad luck?” Leon asked, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the STARS jacket, his hood still up and hiding his face.

The Merchant glanced back over to him, smile bright. “Are you superstitious, Stranger?”

“I'm allowed to be. I have bad luck and everything likes to take advantage of that.” Leon said. But he grinned back, ignoring the sensation of the elevator moving, ignoring how enclosed the space was despite being one of the largest elevators Leon had ever been in. When the elevator dinged on the Merchant's floor, Leon flinched, but at least the Merchant's back was turned to him. He waited the extra second for the Merchant to step out, worried a zombie would suddenly stumble in instead.

The hallway was zombie-free and just as prestigious as the main hallway had been. Leon's eyes were locked on how soft the red carpet was beneath his boots as they made their way down the hall, Leon almost running into the Merchant when he stopped at his door, 1313. _Double bad luck._

The strange older man slid his card-key into his lock before popping it open when the little light turned green, pushing the door in so Leon could enter first.

“After you, Stranger.” The Merchant gestured, and perhaps, _mayhaps_ , he was trying to be funny.

Leon entered the hotel room, his nerves suddenly on fire. He glanced around quickly, nervously, suddenly aware that he was drunk and spinning, and the door was closing behind them. The room was large, with a massive king-sized bed and matching furniture, the modern coloring all contrasting nicely. The TV mounted to the wall was unnecessarily large for a hotel, the place clearly wasting every dime they had on luxury. Leon wouldn't be surprised if the bathtub was actually a hot tub with massage jets, but that wasn't what Leon cared about right now.

Wary, Leon spun around, his eyes on the Merchant, worried about what would happen next. He set his bag down against the wall carefully, mindful of his laptop. He had never been nervous like this before, never been nervous to be drunk and alone in a room with another man whose voice was low and gravely. While Leon might have felt _out of control_ before, he had always felt like he himself was a danger. _Relax, relax._

Right now, Leon felt like a bunny, the wolf prowling in.

“You look nervous.” The Merchant said nonchalantly as he moved into the room. He pulled his hood back off as he went towards the corner of the room where there was a large mini-fridge. He popped it open, pulling out a water bottle, and threw it Leon's way.

Leon caught it out of instinct. He glanced down to it before glancing back up to the Merchant. Honesty was his best defense. “Maybe I'm worried about your intentions.”

The Merchant laughed. “You're free to leave as you please. But I thought you came here for a reason, Stranger?”

The Merchant moved closer, unbuttoning his cloak as he went. Leon's eyes snapped down to it just as the Merchant pulled the last button free, the cloak suddenly showing its weight and swinging partially open. From the fading orange sunlight streaming in through the open window, Leon could see the glint of metal shining from inside the Merchant's cloak, fully stocked just like it had been back in Spain.

Okay. Maybe Leon was just a little too paranoid.

Leon chuckled, eyes drawn to the weapons. “So what do you know about my _predicament_?”

The Merchant paused, leaning against one hip. His cloak swayed heavily around him, those glowing eyes locked on Leon like they were staring straight through him. The Merchant made an amused sound deep in the back of his throat. The hairs on Leon's neck stood on end. “I know it's not much different than back in Spain, while being completely different.”

“How do you know?” Leon asked suspiciously, and he reminded himself that this was why he was here. For information. Because Leon might be the only person to put a stop to Krauser and whatever he had planned with the Plagas, and if this man had information, then Leon needed to know.

The Merchant bared his teeth in a grin, the smile more predatory than it had been a few moments ago. “I can smell it on you. In you. You could say I've become very familiar with the little beasts.”

“You knew I was at that bar.” Leon stated, his anxiety suddenly jumping because if the Merchant had been able to _smell him_ , who's to say Krauser couldn't too? Maybe disassembling his phone had been futile? Krauser was infected with _something_ , something probably worse than the Plaga alone if his arm had anything to prove. If being back from the _dead_ had anything to prove.

“Mayhaps I did.” The Merchant said. “Mayhaps I didn't.”

Leon stared. He stared at the Merchant hard, wondering if this man had something to do with Krauser, if this man was here because of the Plagas, or if this was all just one giant coincidence. It was just too convenient. What the hell was with Leon's luck?

With a dry throat, Leon cracked open the bottle of water in his hands but he didn't take a drink. “What did the little birdies tell you?”

“Relax, Stranger. Sit down.” The Merchant said, gesturing to the little table in the corner of the room, two chairs neatly tucked into it. Leon's anxiety suddenly spiked, and it must have been apparent on his face because the Merchant chuckled at him, those blue eyes crinkling in the corners again.

“Straight to business, I promise.” The Merchant said, moving away from Leon and plopping into a chair himself. “I liked that about you. No beating around the bush and because I like you, I'll give you some intel for free. I was contacted, and mayhaps they promised good coin in exchange for my knowledge on a certain little creepy crawly.”

“Umbrella.” Leon clarified, his hand still tightly wrapped around the cracked lid, his anger from earlier returning. He moved over and sat down on the edge of the bed just to keep more distance between him and the Merchant. “Who called you?”

The Merchant cackled, raising a single pointer finger and waving it Leon's way in denial. “I came to the city, thought I'd stay a while and see what kind of business I could sniff out. But then I sniffed out you. I don't play sides, Stranger, but I do have my own moral code. And if anyone can show up out of nowhere and take out an entire village of hostiles single-handed, then I doubt a couple of revenge-seeking rouges would prove to be much of a problem. That, and you're probably searching for a cure.”

“Is there?” Leon perked up, trying not to sound completely desperate. The faster he got the Plaga out of his chest, the faster he could rip Krauser a new one. _He knows, someone knows that there's a Plaga inside of me, but he won't do anything, will he?_

“For you?” The Merchant chuckled, before shrugging. “You might still have time.”

“I need help.” Leon said abruptly, but his mouth snapped shut before he could say the rest of his piece. _I need help_ _, can you tell someone about the Plaga?_ His expression fell, frustration taking over because _someone fucking knows_ but it was likely they wouldn't stick their nose into this and it was likely Leon couldn't say the explicit words that needed to be said. The Merchant wouldn't help. Leon was no closer to finding a solution before everything went horrendously wrong.

“I know, Stranger, but I can't help you the way you want.” The Merchant said. He sighed, looking somber for the first time that night. “I can only give you the tools for your fight, though I don't plan on sticking around here too much longer. The weather, and all.”

“Unfortunate. And here I thought I could visit again.” Leon chuckled, more disappointed that he was once again at a dead end. His head was still spinning from the alcohol, but not as bad as before. He pulled off the lid to the water bottle, taking a quick mouthful. It was too cold, but it sharpened his drunk attention.

The Merchant stood up from his chair, slowly pacing closer. “Don't look so down, Stranger.”

“I'm allowed to be a little bit irked.” Leon snapped as he got up too, glaring up as the Merchant approached. “You gave someone crucial information on the Plaga, and now they've created a bio-weapon worse than the last and it's become _my_ problem.”

The Merchant chuckled, reaching out. Leon went still as the Merchant placed his palm against Leon's chest, large hand splayed over his heart. Leon was suddenly aware of how quickly it was beating, stress getting the better of him.

“You're not wrong about the part I played.” The Merchant said. “But my intel is the only reason why you're not half-feral for blood right now, _Stranger._ And you won't turn bad unless you're told to turn bad, I can promise you that. I came to you to make sure I hadn't been misunderstood. It seems they listened.”

 _My intel is the only reason why you're not half-feral for blood right now,_ _Stranger._ Leon glanced up, eyes wide, and _oh God_ , that was the best news he had heard so far. He suddenly felt less helpless if the Merchant wasn't pulling his leg, less desperate to figure this out before his time ran out, before the Plaga suddenly took over and turned him into a murderer.

“How can you be sure?” Leon asked, his voice light and breathless.

The Merchant cut Leon one of those grins and a wink, head tilting. Leon suddenly wondered if the Merchant had been infected this whole time, since Spain. Maybe the Merchant had been coexisting with a Plaga this entire time.

The man's hand slid up Leon's chest to grip his shoulder, firm and unyielding. “That's an expensive question you've got there.”

“What can I say? I've got expensive tastes.” Leon laughed, eyes flickering up. He suddenly crashed through every interaction he'd had with the man, trying to search for signs that the man had been infected this whole time. He had, hadn't he? Was that why the villagers had never found him? Because they had sensed he was one of them, and hadn't been able to differentiate between mind-controlled and free-range?

“I'm aware of your tastes, if your choice in guns has anything to say about you.” The Merchant said, his hand sliding up Leon's neck to cup the unmarred side of his jaw. Those eerie blue eyes roamed over Leon's face, Leon's breath catching.

Shit. The man was obviously coming on to him and Leon wasn't sure what he wanted to do. They had been flirting all night, hadn't they? Even if it had been accidental on Leon's part, he still felt responsible for this turn of events.

First and foremost, he wanted to flee right now, thank the man for information and run, but on second thought, maybe replacing Krauser's touch wasn't a bad idea. Before Krauser, Leon hadn't slept around, hadn't really… well. In all honesty, he didn't want to admit that he'd never slept with anyone and had been content to keep it that way. He'd always struggled to find attraction in other people, though his puppy-innocence and starstruck goals to be a part of STARS hadn't left much room for any other thoughts. And then the government and then the BOW's and the drinking had all been at the forefront of his mind for most of his life. Sex had never been a priority and he hadn't really had time to settle down, find someone right. His job kind of got in the way of that. He knew shit all about sleeping with women, let alone men, but when he placed his hand tentatively over the Merchant's wrist, he knew he had given off an approving signal even if he wasn't sure he wanted to.

“What was that about my choice in guns?” Leon asked haughtily, worried his tone would waver with his dubiety. He wasn't making a sober decision, was just going with the flow, hoping it would all work out for once. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe these hands wouldn't replace Krauser's, would just leaving Leon feeling worse than before he had come here. Who was taking advantage of who, here?

“I said they're expensive.” The Merchant pushed him a step back towards the wall, eyes glittering. He leaned down, mouth invading Leon's space and Leon's heart suddenly jumped. He wasn't sure if he was just nervous or uncomfortable. He wasn't sure of a lot of things, lately.

“I don't give discounts. You'll pay the full price for more information, you know.” The Merchant said, face so close to Leon's bruised jaw that Leon could feel his warm breath. It made him squirm, a hand reaching up to tightly grip the Merchant's cloak.

 _No._ Leon's hands started to tremble, his eyes widening a smidge as the Merchant leaned in, mouth pressing against Leon's jaw. Leon inhaled gently, his pulse jumping as he closed his eyes. He needed to say something, needed to get out of the hotel and outside into the fresh air, but the second the Merchant's stubble grazed his jaw, Leon's breath stopped. His mind suddenly strayed to Jack Krauser, large hands on his face, hot mouth against his skin in his own bathroom while the older man pressed into him, forcing Leon to quietly moan. Leon hadn't been able to stop himself. The ache had been sharp back in the bathroom. Leon was just glad he hadn't gotten aroused during it. _Next time you fuck someone or touch yourself, I order you to think about me._

Leon suddenly gasped, shoving the Merchant back out of his space. The Merchant went willingly, eyes flickering down, unsurprised. He backed off on his own, his hand reaching up to his lips, the corners of his mouth still quirked.

“I have to go.” Leon said, his voice wavering in panic as he jerkily pulled himself from the wall. He almost forgot to grab his backpack, would have hated to come scampering back for it with his tail between his legs. “Sorry. Thanks for the information.”

“Wait.” The Merchant called just as Leon got to the door. Leon paused, glancing over his shoulder, his anxiety soaring through the roof. He glanced back over his shoulder to the Merchant leaning against the wall with crossed arms, looking like nothing had just happened, like Leon's reaction wasn't out of the ordinary.

“I'll never tell a man how he should use the arsenal at his disposal.” The Merchant said, his voice gentle. “But I will tell a man about the enemy, should I know something helpful.”

Leon swallowed thickly, a full-body tremble suddenly washing over him. He didn't ask for the Merchant to elaborate, didn't trust his voice to come out steady. He didn't know if he wanted to know, didn't know if he'd be able to handle any more bad news.

“This isn't a solo-job, Stranger, and you need to stop focusing on the front door to your problems.” The Merchant warned. “What we have in _common_ , Stranger, can help us.”

 _The Plaga can help me?_ Leon cleared his throat, surprised his voice didn't shake. It was quiet, but it was steady. “What the hell does that mean?”

The Merchant only grinned.


	6. It's Called Hiding In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon leaves the Merchant's hotel room just to be dragged into another. Later when he calls Chris, Chris can't help but be suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Forced Alcohol Consumption
> 
> Good news, it's a long chapter.

_“I also saw another familiar Stranger today.” The Merchant had said before Leon had left, smile spreading in amusement. “I can't help you any further, but your friend might. Good luck out there, Stranger.”_

Leon, for the life of him, could not figure out _who_ the Merchant had been referring to. He moved down the hallway unhurried, his eyes on the soft plush carpet beneath his boots without really seeing it. He didn't even think about it as he pressed the button for the elevator, still wrapped up in his own head. The Merchant hadn't given up any information after that, but at least he had asked Leon to stay an extra minute until he was calm. _Don't run out there until you're ready._

Leon didn't know what to make of the gesture, but he was grateful. He had caught his breath before he had left confidently, stepped into the elevator with a clearer head than when he had been leaving in a panic. His mind was still wandering back to Chris and Claire, and even over to Hunnigan. _I saw another familiar Stranger._ The elevator doors closed behind him and Leon jabbed the button for the main floor before slinking into the corner, still wary about those double doors sliding open just to reveal a horde of zombies. His gun was still at his side, his laptop at his back. He had everything he needed right now, and all he had left to do was go back to Chris and hopefully sort this all out.

At least the Plaga wouldn't turn him feral, if the Merchant was right. Leon would still watch out for it, would still keep an eye out for signs that something was going wrong, but at least he didn't have to obsessively stress over it like he had been before. He could find another aspect of his _problem_ to focus on, until he inevitably found a solution. He always came out on top by the skin of his teeth despite being under-prepared. This would be no different. He would go back to Chris with an excuse before doing some more research and hopefully figuring out how to go about this.

The elevator didn't stop for anyone else. It smoothly coasted down to the main floor where the doors dinged open. Leon hesitated half a second to make sure undead weren't rushing in – a bad habit, but a habit none the less – before he moved into the doorway to step out.

He only saw Jack Krauser after Jack Krauser saw him, the ex-soldier roughly grabbing Leon by the shoulder and shoving him back into the elevator before Leon could even hope to dodge. His back slammed into the opposite wall as Krauser stepped into the elevator, his grin wide and instantly amused. Leon dropped the water bottle the Merchant had given him, his hand diving into his jacket for the gun at his hip.

“Comrade, nice to see you again.” Krauser said, his tone excited. Leon suddenly wished he had taken the stairs or had stayed with the Merchant. As awful as sleeping with the man might have been, it would have been better than _this._ _What shitty luck!_

“Shit-” Leon whipped out his gun, but was instantly disarmed. Someone else had stepped into the elevator with them, and while Krauser, six feet away, casually jammed his finger into the button for the second floor, his companion had confiscated Matilda in the blink of an eye. The elevator doors closed, and Leon stood panting against the wall, sliding away towards the furthest corner, eyes snapping to the newest addition to his troubles as the elevator started to lift. He had an enemy on either side of him, his heart suddenly beating so fast that the Plaga shifted in annoyance.

The man was tall and lanky. He leaned against the wall, inspecting Leon's handgun with his mouth pulled into a thin frown. His blond hair was fair and pushed back, brighter than Leon's own, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His jumpsuit was leather and tacky, and if Leon wasn't choking on his own pulse, he would have said exactly that. It took Leon's slowly sobering brain an extra second, but he suddenly recognized the man from reports, knew this man's files were more the BSAA's problem rather than STRATCOM's.

“Albert Wesker.” Leon breathed, his brain stuttering to a complete stop. _Oh shit, what the fuck?_ How were two notorious bad guys – both who should be _deader than dead_ – out and about, walking around without anyone noticing them? Leon knew Wesker had something to do with Spain, that Krauser had been hired by this madman to kidnap Ashley. So what were they doing together now? They were in plain sight, waltzing around a brand new hotel, weren't even hiding. _Anyone could get on the elevator and see them,_ _what the hell are they doing?_

“You're friends with Chris.” Wesker said, feigning disinterest, his voice instantly grating on Leon's ears.

“You're accent fucking sucks.” Leon snapped, a spark of adrenaline shooting through him when Wesker suddenly glanced up to him at the comment. Leon couldn't see his eyes but he could feel the man's uncomfortable gaze on him. Leon shuddered. Krauser barked out a laugh, leaning against the corner wall across from them by the elevator buttons. His eyes were on Leon hungrily, sliding up and down his body. Leon could practically see Krauser daydreaming about repeating last night.

_Oh god, what the fuck._

Wesker pushed Matilda into the waistband of his belt, slowly stalking over to Leon and all Leon could do was straighten against the wall, his eyes never leaving Wesker's face. The man's gloved hand snapped out, pressing into Leon's windpipe, slamming the back of his head against the wall with enough force to leave stars in Leon's vision. Leon grit his teeth, wondering why everyone always went for the neck.

“Why haven't you ordered his obedience and respect?” Wesker asked. He sounded annoyed.

Krauser chuckled, but didn't sound threatened by the other man in the slightest. “He's more fun this way, don't you think?”

Wesker hummed in thought, tilting Leon's face to the side so far to get a good look at him that Leon worried his neck would snap. Wesker suddenly let Leon go, watching as Leon hunched forward, coughing.

“Fun is how mistakes are made.” Wesker commented, but otherwise backed off. “As long as the results are the same.”

Krauser made a noise, a noise Leon knew meant he was annoyed. Glancing up, Leon looked between the two of them, wondering how two horrendously power-hungry Alpha Males had managed to get into the same boat together again without killing each other first. Clearly, they were up to something, after something, and clearly, they were going to use Leon on the front lines to get it.

The elevator dinged and Leon flinched, the doors sliding open.

Before Leon could bolt for it, Krauser grabbed his forearm, squeezing so tight that Leon could feel his radius grinding into his ulna. If the bone didn't outright crack, it was going to at least bruise. Leon knew he'd have a black hand-print on his arm later.

“Where the hell are we going.” Leon snapped, stumbling down the hall on quick feet as the two men dragged him down the hall.

“Not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Wesker commented, eventually stopping at one of the doors at the end of the hall. It was right beside the emergency exit, a fact that left Leon with both hope and suspicion. Wesker pulled out a key card, sliding it into the lock. _Room 0225_. The door chimed open in a way unlike the Merchant's, instantly making Leon groan.

 _There's a fucking lab under here, isn't there._ _Was this whole hotel built as a cover for Umbrella?_

“Takes a tool to know a tool.” Leon snapped back belatedly, earning another amused chuckle from Krauser. Years ago, Leon would have loved to hear Krauser laugh. Now, he was torn between being proud of himself for grinding Wesker's nerves while also hating how it brought Krauser amusement.

Wesker made a disgruntled noise that Leon couldn't help but laugh at as the man shoved the door open.

“Take him in. Make it quick.” Wesker said like he was being put out. Leon didn't like the sound of this at all.

Krauser roughly dragged Leon into the room ahead of them, Wesker trailing in behind him. The blonde didn't even bother to lock the door, the cocky bastard, just let it slam closed behind them.

The room was dark because the curtains were drawn shut, and when Wesker turned on the light, Leon was genuinely surprised to see the room looked just like the Merchant's had. There was nothing about the area that screamed special, but that didn't mean shit. There was a secret door somewhere, wasn't there? In the bathroom? In the closet? There was no way two alive dead-men had just casually checked into a brand new fancy hotel in the middle of the busy city. There was no way. This had something to do with Umbrella, and there had to be a reason for the room. Leon started to squirm, knowing he had little to no chance to escape.

“Let's get one thing straight, comrade.” Krauser suddenly snapped, slamming Leon into the nearby wall, pinning him firmly by both of his forearms. He stepped between his knees so Leon couldn't kick him. At least Krauser had learned from the last time Leon had kicked him in the face. Leon's bag dropped to the ground beside him during the struggle, internally cringing because he wasn't sure if his safety was more important than that laptop right now. He _needed_ the information.

Krauser flashed his teeth. “Next time I call you, you don't hang up the phone on me. Ever. You never hang up on me, comrade. That's an order.”

This time, Wesker huffed in amusement in the background. He casually came and retrieved Leon's bag from the floor, taking it to the nearby bed. Leon grit his teeth, eyes narrowed on Krauser, their faces only inches apart. His heart was pounding again, that shudder back in his fingertips as hot air ghosted against his face. He remembered the stubble, remembered the pain. He needed to take a deep breath, but even that thought reminded him of Krauser's gentle words. _Take a deep breath, comrade._

“Did it hurt your feelings?” Leon asked, intent on _ignoring_ the call next time. He wouldn't even answer, then. He would just have to obsessively check his caller ID and block all the unknown numbers. He would make Krauser jump through technical hoops just to control him, and Leon would make sure he enjoyed every second of it. Fuck the Plaga, Leon had wit.

Krauser snorted, but the grin that spread across his face in the next second was wicked. One of his hands slid up to Leon's face, thumb pressing at his bottom lip. “Don't take me for a fool. Now seeing how you hung up on me, we're already several hours behind schedule. That's bad news for you.”

Leon's heart stuttered. _No, oh no, oh no-_

“I said make it quick.” Wesker said impatiently, casually unzipping Leon's bag and dumping out its contents. Clothes dumped across the bed along with his laptop. Wesker instantly picked up the silver computer, flipping it over and glancing over the STRATCOM logo on the front. He lifted the lid like he didn't expect it to be password protected, tapping a few buttons to see if it would boot up. It wasn't even on. Hell, Leon wasn't even sure if it was charged, to be honest. He had just kind of tossed it to the side a week or so ago.

“I need you to do something for us.” Krauser said, catching Leon's attention again. “Tomorrow, you're going to go to work like everything is normal, and you're going to steal something for us.”

Leon swallowed, not liking where this was going. He made eye contact, only because he had to. _They're after something that only I have access to. Fuck. They're trying to be sneaky. Looks like Wesker actually has brains._

“Tomorrow.” Krauser said, like he was condescendingly explaining basic math to a child. “Down in the lab, in the cold room, you're going to find a live specimen in a little green tube. It's going to be labeled LP-LW003. You're going to steal it, and you're going to bring it back here and put it in my hands, and you're not going to tell anyone you took it. That's an order. You will not tell or allude to anyone that you're breaking protocol, stealing, or that you're hiding anything. You will do this to the best of your abilities and will not get caught intentionally and you will not arouse suspicion. That's an order.”

Leon swallowed thickly, eyes narrowing. It seemed like the orders needed to be explicitly stated they were orders, which could work to Leon's benefit if he pissed Krauser off enough. Krauser might forget to mention that part. He was usually brawn over brains and the angrier he was, the more shit he talked. Leon tried not to think about his unfortunate near future, instead noting what he _could_ do instead. If he just _didn't_ go to work, maybe the order wouldn't kick in? _Tomorrow, you're going to go to work like everything is normal._

Krauser smirked, glancing over his shoulder at Wesker. “Did I forget anything, your highness?”

“Where are you staying?” Wesker asked Leon, ignoring the nickname. He shoved Leon's laptop back into his bag along with his change of clothes and, to Leon's temporary horror, his cellphone, back in one piece.

They had gone to his apartment and had taken the phone he had left behind. Krauser had _been in his apartment again._ Leon had been smart to leave.

Wesker zipped the bag up in disinterest, like he had expected to find something else in there. He tossed the bag back down onto the bed, head tilting up. Behind the sunglasses, Leon could feel the man's stare. Leon's mouth went dry, glancing back over to Krauser as he remained stubbornly silent. _No, shit, don't make me-_

“I order you to tell me where you're hiding right now.” Krauser said, smirking.

Leon grit his teeth, but his mouth pried open, spilling the information against his will. It was the worst sensation he'd ever felt in his life, besides Krauser ripping him open. “I'm staying with Chris Redfield.”

Wesker clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Of course. That bastard. No matter, Chris will play his part when the time comes.”

Leon's blood went cold. _They're going to target Chris too?_ It made sense, considering Chris had been the one to try and put Wesker down twice. It made sense, seeing how wherever Wesker went, Chris seemed to follow. _What the hell are they planning?_

Krauser glanced back over to Leon, his smile still twisted in amusement. “Looks like your friend will be in just as much trouble as you are soon. Did I forget anything else?”

 _Yes._ Leon thought. Krauser had forgotten something _very_ important, but Leon wasn't about to tell him. Instead, he started to struggle against Krauser's hands, baring his teeth.

“You did.” Wesker said. He came closer, reaching out for the front of Leon's sweater. Krauser let him go just as Wesker dragged Leon off the wall with more strength than expected, his face twisted up into a snarl. Leon returned the snarl, getting ready to cut and run.

Wesker shook him once to knock the snarl right off his face, a red glow emitting from behind the sunglasses. “If you even _suggest_ to Chris that you've seen me, let alone _tell him_ , I will find him and pull every single tooth, nail, and minor bone out of his body before tearing out his spine one vertebrae at a time, do you hear me? And I will find you and I will tie you down and make you watch as I cut out his tongue and eyes and ears before I gut him slowly like a fish. And if there are any other Redfield's in that house when I come, she will suffer the same fate and you will still watch.”

The hatred had chills running through Leon's blood. His eyes widened and he must have paled, a tingle in his temple telling him he was dizzy. This wasn't an order, Wesker couldn't control him, but the hatred and violence behind the threat was enough. Wesker shoved him away in the next second, eyes still glowing from behind his glasses. Leon stood, his mouth opening before he could stop himself. He was drunk and nervous and a lot of things right now, and his quips were all he usually had.

“You won't succeed, you know.” Leon said, unsure where his confidence was coming from. “If you wanted Chris dead already, you would have killed him. There's something wrong with you, isn't there? Something is wrong with the both of you. You're dead men walking and that must reflect somewhere. It's not the T-virus, is it? Something similar.”

Wesker was on him so fast that Leon felt the pain of his head cracking against the wall before he realized Wesker had even shoved him _into_ the wall. The man towered over him, lips pulled back into a snarl that Leon could hardly see past the stars. “I don't think you realize who you're talking too or what you're suggesting. Maybe you've had too much alcohol, and you aren't thinking clearly.”

Wesker suddenly tossed him, sending Leon straight to the ground. Slowly, despite the super-speed he was obviously capable of, Wesker stalked across the hotel room like he wanted the dramatic effect, before returning just as Leon got up to his hands and knees. Wesker kicked him over before yanking on the hood of his sweater and forcing him back to his feet, dragging him into the bathroom. Easily, Wesker shoved Leon over the edge of the bathtub, watching as Leon slipped into the large basin face first, struggling to get his hands underneath him before he cracked open his skull. Leon wasn't surprised the bathroom had been equipped with a jacuzzi, was more worried about how this could be used _against_ him. Shakily, Leon got his hands and knees underneath him, getting up just enough to see Wesker uncap a brand new and intimidatingly large bottle of rum. The cap was tossed away as Wesker raised his hand over Leon's head, tilting the bottle. Wesker wasted a fair portion of it, cool rum hitting Leon's scalp and making him gasp.

Leon grit his teeth, the alcohol burning his eyes as it slid over his hair, soaking into the shoulders of his jacket and sweater. The stench was awful, and the second Wesker was done wasting a small portion of the liquor, Leon wiped his eyes off with the dry parts of his sleeves.

“That was a waste.” Krauser complained from the doorway. His eyes were narrowed on Wesker, like Wesker was gnawing on his prey instead of his own. The ex-soldier leaned against the frame, arms crossed with his notorious scowl. “You've got to loosen up a little, you're always so uptight. Don't waste the liquor. Fuck him and then make him drink it all before sending him on his way like the rest of us.”

“Give him the order and then send him on his way. We're late.” Wesker snapped, shoving the bottle into Krauser's chest. Krauser caught it in surprise, his eyes on Wesker in a way he used to look at Leon.

Leon suddenly understood something.

In the doorway, Wesker paused, turning around. He took off his sunglasses, red cat-eyes catching Leon's attention and holding it. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to be a controlling dick and get away with it without the use of Plagas. “Order him to shut his mouth and do as we say. We don't have time for his defiance.”

Leon's expression didn't change, not even as Krauser chortled and slammed the bathroom door shut behind him as he moved in, stalking closer to the unnecessarily large tub. He placed the bottle of rum down on the ledge before stepping into the tub slowly, one heavy boot at a time, the combats squeaking against the dry surface. Leon scrambled back from him, trying to get his feet underneath him, slipping in the rum.

“Stay down.” Krauser commanded.

“You should take lessons on ordering people around from that guy.” Leon sneered as he scrambled to his feet. Krauser grabbed for him but Leon ducked, trying to jump out of the tub before Krauser could get him. He didn't get very far, slipping on the uneven surface and going down hard, his knee smashing into an armrest built into the side of the tub. Krauser swooped down over him in the next second, knees on either side of Leon's hips as he grappled with Leon's arms. Leon kicked him, jabbed his knee into Krauser's side hard enough to make the man groan and shift, gaining just enough room to wiggle out from underneath him. He jumped out of the tub in a smooth arc, Krauser grabbing onto his jacket at the last second and tugging. Leon slipped out of the large garment, running for the bathroom door and wrenching it open.

Wesker was there in the blink of an eye but Leon had expected that, his leg already raised, knee to chest, and he slammed his boot straight into Wesker's solar plexus. The man might have been part BOW according to the reports, might have been damn near indestructible, but the force of Leon's panicked kick winded him all the same. Wesker stumbled back and Leon kicked him in the dick with his steel toe as hard as he could before spinning, a roundhouse kick to the jaw sending Wesker straight down to his hands and knees on the ground with a grunt.

Leon kicked Wesker in the side for good measure before Krauser came up behind him, and Leon's second roundhouse struck much higher, catching Krauser right in the face. The ex-soldier stumbled to side with a hand flying to his nose before Leon yelled at him, throwing himself forward and jamming his elbow straight under Krauser's rib, Leon's boot snagging inside of Krauser's combats just in time, tripping the man and sending him straight down.

Wesker was on him in the next moment, a hand snagged painfully into his hair and slamming him into the nearest wall, his arm twisted up painfully behind him. Leon groaned as both of his hands were caught, his shoulders protesting the angle, a heavy chest leaning in to pin him. Just like that, he was caught.

“You're such a pest. What did you hope to accomplish?” Wesker complained. Leon laughed a little hysterically at how winded Wesker sounded. Good. “I should break your legs.”

 _What?_ Leon could only gasp as he was thrown straight down to the ground, hardly throwing up his hands to catch himself. Wesker straddled his back and grabbed his right knee.

_“No-”_

“Wait!” Krauser sounded urgent. He was out of breath, blood running down his nose and lip, but he only swiped at the wound. “He needs to go into the lab, remember? We're trying not to attract _attention?_ ”

Wesker huffed in annoyance, his grip tightening. Leon's pulse still stuttered through his veins, but he had just learned something very important. _Wesker loses his cool to the need for violent control, and Krauser loses to sexual urges. Holy shit_ _._ However, despite Krauser unintentionally saving Leon's leg, Wesker didn't move his hand. Leon's breath was ragged, eyes wide, both thankful and annoyed that Krauser had saved him.

“We're wasting time. _You_ have wasted time. He won't drink again when I'm through with him and he won't put up a stunt like this once you're done with him either.” Wesker said. He threaded his fingers back through Leon's hair and dragged him to his feet by his hair. Leon groaned, his legs trembling violently.

Krauser chuckled, hand going to his belt. “Oh, I'll put him in his place, alright.”

“You won't touch him like that. That's beneath us.” Wesker snapped, earning a frown from Krauser. “Where did you put that bottle? We don't have time for his problems and I don't have time for you to play around, Jack Krauser.”

They dragged Leon into the bathroom kicking and struggling before shoving him down to his knees in the middle of the floor. Wesker still had a fistful of Leon's hair, was bickering about men and their vices while Krauser was still whining about being denied _his_ vice.

“Not even a blow job?” Krauser asked, his tone pouting.

In the mirror, Leon could see Wesker gave him a _look_ and Leon would have laughed at the expression if the man wasn't protecting him from another sexual assault. But when Wesker suddenly grabbed Leon's jaw from behind and pinched his nose, Krauser grabbing the bottle of rum off the ledge of the bathtub with enough glee in his eyes to make Leon want to vomit, Leon wondered if he had been saved from anything at all.

He struggled, hands and feet in the fray as he forced them to work him still. He tried to refuse the bottle being shoved between his lips, but they forced it all down his throat, some of it burning up his nose when he choked, another good portion soaking the front of his sweater. The alcohol stung just like the tears in the back of his eyes, his stomach sloshing, liver already protesting. When they were done, Wesker lingered in the bathroom for Krauser to give the order like he didn't trust Krauser to do it alone again.

“In Albert Wesker's presence, the only words coming from your damn mouth are 'yes sir' Otherwise, shut up. That's an order.” Krauser said, smiling in excitement. “As much as I love your defiance, we're on a tight schedule apparently.”

Leon frowned, fixing his shittiest look on Wesker, but when Krauser's hand wandered down his cheek, thumb back to his lips, Wesker was quick to stop him.

 _“You.”_ Wesker said to Leon, his tone accusing. “Stop drinking. We need you at your best.”

“Yes sir.” Leon said sassily before growling in frustration, baring his teeth at Wesker because he had a nasty comment to make but he couldn't make it.

“Throw him out.” Wesker said. He didn't even seem pleased that Leon had listened. “We're _behind_ schedule. You take him down to a cab and you come straight back. Be quick about it, and by quick I mean you get _three_ minutes, Jack Krauser.”

“ _Yes sir_.” Krauser said in his snarkiest tone, dragging Leon to his feet. He gave Wesker a mock salute before dragging Leon out into the hallway and back into the elevator, shoving him against the wall the second they were in there. Leon's breath was heavy, worry and panic stirring in his gut because he had just downed way too much alcohol in one go and it was only a matter of time before he was completely incoherent, if not almost dead. His SIM wasn't in his phone and he needed to get that shit together before he was too drunk to do it properly.

“You're lucky.” Krauser whispered but Leon didn't really feel lucky, not with the way the world started to dangerously spin, his breath rushing out of him faster. Krauser didn't even bother with pressing the button for the ground floor, didn't adhere to the three minute time frame. He smothered Leon against the wall and opened the front of his jeans, grabbing Leon's hand. “I order you to blow me.”

Leon frowned. He didn't even try before he realized thirty seconds later that the worse he performed, the longer he would have to do this.

Nine minutes later, Leon was shoved into a taxi and he slurred his address at the driver, hoping he could get home before the alcohol _really_ hit. He instantly had his phone out, was fumbling to get the SIM back in, trying not to cry. Shit, they had poured so much down his throat he was sure he'd end up with alcohol poisoning on top of everything. At this point, he wasn't sure if his need to vomit was from the taste of Krauser or from the alcohol.

_I didn't even find the secret entrance to the lab._

–

Chris wasn't surprised to come back to an empty apartment later that evening. He hadn't expected Leon to even come home with him in the first place, let alone stay for a while. Especially between him and Claire practically ganging up on the solo-agent? Maybe they had pushed Leon too hard.

Next time, Chris told himself he would give Leon more space, would give the situation more space. Leon seemed to like his space, had been alone long enough that space was required.

At least Chris didn't have to worry about France anymore. Not yet, anyway. Nivans was off visiting family now that they had finished writing the reports together, faxing everything over to O'Brian back in Europe. They were both officially in vacation mode, and Chris had the whole apartment to himself for the time being. He could kick back and relax. Drink a couple of beers while catching up on some on-going shows he liked.

But first, he needed food.

In his kitchen, Chris started to pull out pans to make dinner. He didn't really know what he wanted, just knew he wanted to cook. He had stopped for groceries on his way home, a little suspicious about the leftovers in the fridge, and rightfully so. He hoped he hadn't given Leon food poisoning.

He dug out a variety of meats from his fridge and some vegetables, before frying everything up and making himself some gravy as well. He didn't have any buns, so he slapped a piece of buttered bread down on the side of his steaming plate and called it a day. He

He might have made extra just in case Leon came back, even though it was already nineteen-hundred and Leon hadn't responded to Chris' last text message. He wasn't worried about it though. He put the leftovers neatly into a reusable container. Just in case.

_He just needs some space._

Chris turned on a movie while he ate, settling into his routine of relaxing. He would never admit it, but he was a sucker for the dramas. He saw enough blood and violence and action on a daily basis, he didn't need to watch movies about it too. Halfway through the movie, when the main character was breaking up with her boyfriend in a way that Claire would have complained about, Chris' phone suddenly buzzed on the coffee table by his feet. He paused the movie, eager to see how this breakup turned out, before reaching down to pick up his phone and check the caller ID. He grinned, answering.

“Hey, what's up.” Chris said, happy that Leon was finally calling him back.

Leon was quiet on the other end of the phone, breathing heavily but slowly, before making a pained noise. “Can you-”

Chris was already standing up, searching for his car keys. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Leon said on the other end of the line, and it came out as a sob. He tried to explain, his words slurring together horribly. He was drunk. Chris frowned, tried not to get instantly mad as he found his keys and grabbed his jacket. Leon accidentally hung up on him, and when Chris called back, he didn't answer.

“Fuck.” Chris was out the door, dinner on the coffee table and his movie still on pause.

The drive was quick. At the front door to Leon's apartment, someone was leaving so Chris managed to catch the door, still trying Leon's cellphone. He took the stairs for the sake of speed, rushing up them as fast as he could, jogging down Leon's hallway to his door. He wasn't surprised that it was unlocked – the man really needed to start locking it, Jesus – and when he stepped in, he was greeted to the sound of retching. _At least he's conscious._

Locking the door behind him, Chris quickly kicked off his boots before rushing to Leon's bathroom, already knowing what he would find, already knowing that his short temper was going to be triggered the second he got in there.

Leon was hunched over the side of the toilet, his face ghastly pale and his sweater pulled tight around him. He was shaking as he threw up again, the smell wafting off of him unmistakeable. Chris grit his teeth before moving into the bathroom, sitting down cross-legged beside the solo-agent.

“Are you regretting your choices?” Chris asked, his tone more annoyed than he had intended. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his anger at bay. He was angry that Leon was doing this to himself, angry at himself for letting Leon go when he was so emotionally unstable. Clearly, Leon needed a helping hand.

Leon hummed weakly, high-pitched and distraught.

Chris sighed, about to chew the other man out when he noticed Leon's hair was damp and clinging together like he hadn't showered in days, even though he'd washed it just that morning. Chris reached out, hand grazing Leon's hair to push it out of the way when Leon flinched back violently, eyes snapping up. Chris' hand jerked back, confusion washing over him. Unfocused blue eyes were locked on Chris, their gazes holding for a second before Leon puked again, leaning over just in time to get most of it into the bowl. Keyword: most of it.

Chris hesitated, frowning, before standing up.

Silently, he left the bathroom, noticing on his way to Leon's kitchenette that the man had cleaned up his apartment. There wasn't a bottle of whiskey in sight, the air smelled cleaner somehow, and Chris couldn't help but wonder what the hell this meant. Did Leon clean before he started drinking? Or he did clean after he started drinking seeing how there was nothing to indicate he had splurged? He was drunk now, which didn't make any sense at all.

Instead of debating on it, Chris plucked a glass out of the drying rack and filled it up with water from the tap. He set it down on the counter, wondering if he should update his sister or even just call her for advice, before deciding against it. He collected the glass and returned to the bathroom, settling back on the floor where he had been.

“How much did you drink?” Chris asked, setting the glass of water down between them. Leon was still gagging up bile, shivering violently. Chris' eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Leon?”

Leon mumbled something, words slurring. It sounded like _too much._ Chris frowned again, wondering how much was too much, but he didn't push it. Chris himself had been like this before. Leon gagged again, nothing coming up, his body trembling as he struggled to catch his shallow breath.

“Why did you drink so much?” Chris asked. Leon made a noise, a pitiful noise, his eyelids floating shut. He didn't move, didn't even react as Chris shifted closer.

Chris reached out again, his hand on the sleeve of Leon's sweater this time. Leon stirred, eyes tiredly glancing down to his hand. He was rocking unsteadily where he sat, eyes heavy.

“Leon?” Chris asked. He scooted closer, bringing the glass of water with him. “Can you drink this?”

Leon glanced away, eyes closing. He started to sag, his expression tense.

“Hey.” Chris pushed at his shoulder, keeping him upright. Leon only groaned, eyes closed, his shivering getting worse.

“Chris...” Leon murmured, his expression morphing into unfiltered distress. His voice slurred heavily, the words _I can't be here,_ registering in Chris' brain.

“Okay. Okay, you want to come back to my place?” Chris pushed the glass of water away before getting up. He reached out, trying to drag Leon to his feet with him, but the man was completely unsteady on his feet. “Shit, can you stand?”

Leon only made a noise, and Chris was suddenly worried. “Shit, man. You really did a number on yourself. Tell you what? If you don't puke on your way to the couch and you drink some water, I'll take you back to my apartment.” _Otherwise, you might need to go to the emerg_ _ency room_ _._

Leon moaned, but he put in effort, his hands clinging to Chris' sleeves as Chris hauled him across his living room. Chris tried to be gentle, he really did, but he dropped Leon onto the couch so hard that the man bounced a little, a concerning noise leaving Leon's throat.

“Hey...” Chris whispered, watching, waiting for the telltale signs that the other man was going to puke onto his own carpet, but after a tense moment, Leon sighed and leaned back onto his couch, eyes closed.

“Hey, we made a deal. I'll be right back for you.” Chris said, even though they hadn't agreed on anything. He turned away, quickly returning to the bathroom to get the cup of water Leon hadn't been able to drink. _What the hell caused this?_ Chris only hoped it wasn't because of the pressure he and his sister had been putting on him.

Returning with the water, Chris frowned. Leon's head was tilted back still, eyes closed. His skin was pale and clammy, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. Carefully, trying not to jostle the couch too much, Chris sat down beside him with the glass. “Hey. Did you drink enough for alcohol poisoning?”

Leon shrugged, prying his eyes open and glancing to Chris. “Can we… go…?”

“Not yet.” Chris said. He moved the glass of water closer to Leon's lips, eyes narrow when Leon flinched back from it.

“Don't wanna...” Leon eyed the glass before his throat lurched. He leaned forward, Chris swearing because he hadn't thought to bring out a garbage bag just in case Leon _did_ puke again. Leon didn't, though. Just leaned forward onto his elbows, his throat bobbing with every swallow and gentle dry heave, but nothing came up. Chris tentatively reached over, considered Leon's reaction before but decided to press his luck, placing his hand to Leon's back. Leon sighed deeply, sinking into his own hands, his greasy hair framing his face. Chris scrunched his nose, eyes on the fabric at Leon's shoulders.

It was damp.

 _What the hell?_ Chris didn't want to be weird, didn't want to lean forward and sniff at the material, but he wondered if it was the same as the liquid that had been present on Leon's bed the other night. There was something else going on here, something that wasn't adding up, something that Leon wasn't saying. _What kind of shit are you caught up in?_

Maybe a drunk Leon would talk. As much as Chris hated the idea of taking advantage of Leon's altered mental state, he figured his recent behavior was concerning enough to warrant some prying.

“Leon?”

Leon hummed, shaking his head in refusal, hair swaying.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Chris asked, gently moving his hands in a circular motion before freezing, not wanting to make the other sick from the sensation.

Leon nodded, hair bouncing, but he didn't say anything.

Chris tried for some patience, he really did. He waited an extra moment, expecting Leon to say something, anything, but Leon didn't say anything at all.

“Leon, what happened to you?” Chris asked.

Leon was dead silent. He was quiet for so long that Chris worried he had fallen asleep sitting up. But then Leon was lifting his head, glancing over his shoulder at Chris, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks wet.

“Can we go?” Leon asked, his voice so quiet Chris almost didn't hear him.

Chris didn't like this. He didn't like the way Leon looked one bit. “Of course. But can you answer me one thing? Where were you drinking?”

Leon considered the question, pondered it more intently than the others. His eyes were glassy, eyebrows furrowed together like Chris was speaking a completely different language. He gave Chris the name of the bar, but that was it.

“How much did you drink?” Chris asked.

“Four whiskeys.” Leon slurred. “Doubles.”

Chris frowned. _That's it?_ “When?”

“Four o'clock.”

This didn't make any sense at all. Chris stood up, leaning down to collect Leon, worry and confusion lacing his entire being. “Okay. Let's get out of here. I'll grab you a jacket.”

Back at Chris' apartment, Leon silently fell onto the couch, rolling onto his side. He hadn't said a single word the entire ride home, and Chris doubted he could prompt him anymore, either. Leon seemed content to wallow in his misery right where he laid so Chris placed a bucket near his head, hoping Leon could at least aim and avoid ruining his carpet. Chris wrestled him out of the striped leather jacket he had grabbed, as well as the soaked sweater. He held it in his hand, crinkling his nose as he brought it closer to smell. It needed to be washed, and Chris had drunk his fair share of Whiskey to know that this was something else.

He wasn't sure if he trusted Leon's word.

In bed, sleep didn't come as easy as it had the nights before. Chris' thoughts were on loop, trying to understand the situation, trying to understand what he had just seen. He couldn't shake the little details, the things that didn't make any sense at all. The neutral liquid staining Leon's comforter. The cleaned apartment, not a single bottle of whiskey to be seen. The alcohol Leon drank versus the state of his drunkenness. The dampness of his sweater. His chaotic behavior, his willingness to speak but his lack of words.

Something was very wrong with Leon S. Kennedy, and it scared Chris more than he'd like to admit.

He fell asleep to that thought prompting nightmares, and when he woke up early the next morning and got up to use the bathroom, he noticed that the couch was empty. Claire's bedroom door was still open, Leon's bag gone as well.

Sighing, Chris went back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written Wesker before, but he's such a weirdo in a good way. Also Leon kicking people? Yes.
> 
> Bad news, the updates on this fic are going to slow down until further notice. You can expect the next update on the 28th, I will do my best to make it.


	7. If You're Already In Trouble, You Might As Well Cause More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon does the stupidest thing he can think of, but hey, if he's already sneaking around, he might as well try and help himself while he's at it.

Leon hated that he had snuck out of Chris' so early that Monday morning – god, on second thought, he hadn't even left a note behind to explain _why_ he had left, or to even thank the man for his help the night before – but he left so he could do the stupidest thing he could think of.

He went in to work.

Three Tylenol and half a bottle of water later, Leon confidently badged himself into the STRATCOM building without hesitating or looking suspicious, his backpack slung over his shoulder casually. It was just another day at work for him and no one would be wiser.

He intended to keep it that way.

He strutted in like he always did despite the heaviness of the Plaga in his chest, the weight of knowing that he himself was currently a walking security breach making him nervous. Not one security guard or secretary glanced his way because why would they? He looked fine on the outside and no one would suspect he was carrying a Plaga, obeying enemy orders, until it was too damn late.

He had changed clothes at least and had borrowed one of Chris’ over-sized sweaters he had found in the hallway closet, had put in five minutes of effort to make sure he didn't smell too strongly of liquor. He'd washed his face and his hair in the sink with hand-soap before spraying the shit out of himself with some air fresher, hoping the lingering scent of rum was gone. But judging by the way Hunnigan beckoned him with two fingers the second he was upstairs and tried to sneak by her office, the slow, annoyed, _come hither_ , he hadn't gotten away with anything.

Hunnigan led him to one of the little meeting rooms that were usually empty, her face as stern as usual and unreadable. They closed the door for privacy despite the glass walls, Leon feeling like a little fish trapped in a bowl with a predator. He guessed he hadn't been as sneaky as he had hoped, tried not to let the anxiety show on his face, silently prayed that Hunnigan would somehow catch him before he could make this all worse. This was all going downhill _fast._

Leon sighed as he moved into the dark room and flopped into the nearest office chair, nothing but the hallway light filtering in. He hadn't turned the light on when he had come in first and neither did Hunnigan after him, which meant she already _knew_. He could already guess where this was going and despite the Tylenol, he could feel a major headache coming. That, or a hangover was finally kicking in. Same difference. He felt like complete shit.

“Hunnigan. Fancy seeing you here at the crack of dawn.” Leon tried to joke, lacing his fingers together and trying to look _normal_.

“It's almost seven.” Hunnigan said with stern enough tone that Leon couldn’t help but sigh. She pressed irritably at her glasses out of habit and shifted like she didn't want to confront him. This little dance they were doing was familiar and unfortunate. She was straight up going to call him out for showing up hungover – again – but she didn’t want to do it. Leon just wished he was brave enough to do it himself. To own up.

“Hunnigan, just ask.” Leon sighed. He glanced up, wondering how he looked, if she could tell this was different than usual. He wanted to be saved, but not from his own alcoholic tenancies.

“Maybe one of these days, you should come in here and tell me first.” Hunnigan said, her tone careful but obviously annoyed. She paused, waiting for Leon to take the moment to confess. He grit his teeth, wondering if all _this_ was due karma or something.

“Are you drunk?” Hunnigan asked straight-forwardly.

Leon sighed, sitting up straight in the chair to face her. He hated that he was disappointing her like this, he hated that she kept catching him like this, he hated that this time, he'd had no choice. It didn’t excuse any of the other times, but it certainly made him see the situation in a new light. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a mess when Krauser had gotten his hands on him, maybe someone would have noticed his behavior spiraling as fast as it was.

“Hunnigan-”

“I don't want any half-assed excuses.” Hunnigan said, arms suddenly crossing as she shifted her stance. She stared down her nose at him and he knew he was in trouble. “The truth, Leon. Are you showing up here drunk again?”

“Maybe a little hungover?” Leon tried, flashing her a weak smile before she glared at him. He steeled his expression, glancing down. “Maybe. Yes. I'll be fine in a couple of hours, we both know that. It won't happen again-”

“It will.” Hunnigan said sternly. She sounded so damn sure. “We both know it will. Now either go home or stay in here and don't attract attention to yourself. And if anyone asks, I'm not covering for you, Leon. You’re too old for this. You know better than this. It’s like nothing I do to help you works and I’m starting to think you just don’t want it to work. You should be making a good impression right now, especially with the new head of security, instead showing up to work smelling like liquor and regret. You have the tools to help yourself. You need to help yourself. I know you can do it. You’ve survived worse things, Leon.”

Leon sighed, nodding gently. He could only let her down so much before she stopped _trying._ “I just need to do a few things, and then I'll go home. I promise. No one will even know I was here and I won’t be a problem. It’s important.”

Hunnigan fixed him with a stern look, her arms still crossed. She wasn’t appeased. They had a staring contest for an entire second before Leon finally sighed again and looked away.

“I'll be really quick, I promise.” Leon said before sitting up straighter, trying to meet Hunnigan’s gaze. “Hunnigan. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear it anymore, but I’m _trying_. I’m just having some _trouble_.”

Hunnigan huffed at that. That wasn’t what she had wanted to hear, but Leon had no idea how to explain, and even if he could find the words, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say them.

“Any trouble, and I’m reporting you. For your own good.” Hunnigan said. He tone changed. She still cared, she was still worried. She was just out of options for helping him.

She gave Leon one last look before spinning on her heel and storming out of the little office. Leon didn’t take the threat lightly. He knew better. Any slip ups, any trouble, and he’d find himself being dragged across the building to Health and Safety.

He was running out of time.

Swiveling around in his chair the moment the glass door closed behind Hunnigan, Leon pulled out his laptop from his bag, setting it up on the desk before him. He popped the lid open and booted it up, chin in his hand as he wondered how his life had turned out like this. He’d been having trouble with his drinking and his thoughts since China, had been having trouble since Raccoon City if he wanted to be really honest, but he knew he was hitting a new low right now. _Just remember. At the end of the day if this all gets too out of hand, there’s always Matilda._

Leon froze. Inside him, the Plaga shifted.

God, that was depressing. Maybe his melancholy was due to the early hour? On second thought, he instantly shoved those thoughts out of his head as his laptop loaded for a whole second before it promptly died.

Leon sighed, slapping a hand to his forehead, eyes momentarily closed in frustration. He just couldn’t catch a fucking break. Of course it was dead. Of course he had pushed the device to its limits as well. That was all he did, wasn't it? Gambling everything at the highest stakes?

Grumbling, Leon dug through his bag, thankful he had at least brought his charger with him. At least some small brain-cell of his was looking out for him. Panicked Leon had his shit together, it seemed. He plugged the laptop in before deciding to give it a few moments to recharge, venturing out for some crappy office coffee. His mood was unsalvageable but a little caffeine might help him get through. What else could he do? He needed this shit dealt with sooner rather than later. What had happened last night had been unnecessary and simply cruel. _Jack Krauser._ Leon couldn’t exactly pinpoint the emotions in his chest, but deep down, he felt _betrayed_ again.

_I don’t have time to worry about what Krauser’s done to me._

Out in the tiny little break room that was thankfully empty, the coffee pot was empty.

“Can I catch a fucking _break_?” Leon asked quietly as he set to filling the machine. His eyes were burning. _Shit._ STRATCOM had pretty shitty coffee so Leon liked to brew it strong, tried to distract himself with the tasks at hand rather than the overwhelming feeling in his chest. Krauser this. Plaga that. Nothing working out. And then there was Chris, like an angel sent from heaven, and Leon was trying to push the man as far away as he could. _He’s seen me at my worst now. He might not let me get away with much._

As he was waiting for the pot to fill, someone else noisily entered the room behind him. Leon didn’t look out of fear of who it could be _now_ , arms crossed and foot tapping as he closed his eyes and held back a frustrated growl. Could he just be alone? For one second? He simply noted the presence, worried about it for a hundred different reasons.

“Oh, Agent Kennedy.”

Leon glanced over his shoulder at the new Head of Security standing in the doorway, the man taking Derek C. Simmons' place, and while he was qualified, his personality needed a lot of work. Alfred Hollander was a short man with a thick waistline, his head completely bald and shiny. He had on a nice pressed suit that clashed with the tacky lunch kit hanging in his hands. His designer glasses glinted in the LED lighting and Leon couldn’t help but wonder if that was a sign. Maybe Leon was just _looking_ for signs. Hollander didn't look half as slimy as Simmons had, but there was still something about the other man that made Leon uncomfortable. Perhaps at this point Leon just had trust issues.

“Hollander, hello.” Leon said, before turning back to the coffee maker. “I hope you're settling in nicely?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hollander said. Leon heard the man move over to the fridge, putting his lunch in before closing the door. Leon ignored him by fiddling unnecessarily with the coffee maker, hoping this would be all they said and that the man wouldn't notice his current state of _slight_ intoxication. Leon was only out here because his laptop was dead, and Leon was only _slightly intoxicated_ because of Albert Wesker and Leon had unfortunately met the man simply because of _Jack Krauser._ Leon’s jaw clenched.

_It all comes back to fucking Krauser. I’m going to kill him, and then I will take Wesker out while I’m at it._

Leon didn’t respond, and Hollander didn’t try to make small talk. Awkwardly, Alfred Hollander left just as quietly as he had come, leaving Leon to fill up his mug with hot coffee in peace. This was fine. This was preferable, actually. Hollander with a suspicious guy and Leon himself wasn’t doing too shit hot. He was glad that encounter hadn’t been eventful.

Leon took a sip of the black coffee, eyes cinched shut at the awful taste, before he took that mug back to his dark little office. He pushed open the glass door, eyes going to the laptop tiredly before he froze where he was standing. The Plaga shifted in his chest, the door gently swinging closed behind him, an urgent thought invading his mind.

_Down in the lab, in the cold room, you're going to find a live specimen in a little green tube. It's going to be labeled LP-LW003. You're going to steal it, and you're going to bring it back here and put it in my hands, and you're not going to tell anyone you took it._

_Shit._

The order was suddenly on loop in his head, annoying him, possessing him. It spurred him to gulp down another mouthful of the coffee, burning his tongue and throat in the process before he slammed the mug down onto the desk beside his laptop with grit teeth. _It needs to charge anyway. I need to go look. Down in the lab. Down in the lab. Down..._

“Shit.” Leon placed a hand to his forehead, the compulsion to _obey_ looping through his thoughts. He was annoyed, but if he was going to do this he wouldn't just _do it_ , he would at least think about it and do it on his own terms. He sighed as he exited the office, the pull to the lower floor consuming him. This was almost like Spain when he had seen Ada and had just _needed_ to wrap his hands around her throat. _Shit, don’t think about Spain!_

He didn't take the elevator. He took the stairs to go down to the basement floor, aware of the cameras but knowing that the stairs were his usual method of getting around. He pushed through the lowest floor beneath the massive building and badged himself in through the security door. The lab had high security, had checkpoints everywhere and without the proper clearance for multiple departments, it was almost impossible to get around.

He had access to just about every room down there, whether it was just a mistake on his card or because Adam had known Leon would find a way around regardless, Leon would never know no. He had been down in the lab enough times without written reason that he could come and go as he pleased and no one would bat an eye at him. If they did ask what he was up to, he knew what to say, knew how to excuse himself. It would be simple, really.

Walking down the hall with the first flutter of anxiety in his chest, Leon wondered if Krauser had _known_ this, had known that Leon could easily waltz down here and take what he wanted without being stopped or questioned. _That bastard. I’ll kill him._

He nodded to the security guard who saluted him with a smile. The guard didn’t even stop Leon to ask him where he was going and this was starting to become a painful trend.

With his heart pounding a little harder than normal, Leon pushed through the double doors at the ends of the hallway, entering the lab's waiting room. It was early, but late enough that staff had already started to filter in for the day. The secretary who didn't particularly like him – or anyone for that matter – glanced up to him with a frown. He waved at her before approaching, deciding that he needed to follow his usual procedure to avoid suspicion.

“Hey, I just need-”

“Just go, Agent Kennedy.” The secretary said moodily as she sat down and booted up her computer. She didn't even look back up at him. “I don't need to hold your hand.”

“Maybe you should.” Leon said automatically before pushing off the desk. The secretary scoffed, but he hadn't been flirting. He had been thinking about what he was about to do and how no one would even consider _him_ when they realized that something was missing. By no means was he anyone’s favorite person, but no one doubted his loyalty. Some of them pitied him, knowing he'd been framed by Simmons, and some of them were wary because of the wild stories they’d heard. He wasn’t well liked, but he was well respected. The shit he’d survived had attested to that.

Which made it so easy for him to push open the doors and follow the colored lines on the floor until he found himself standing outside of the cold room. Not a single person had asked him what he was doing or where he was going or why. He badged himself in. This wasn't the first time he had been in here, and the second the door opened, he was greeted with the chill of his decision. This was it. He was officially stealing from his own company to help the bad guys.

_God fucking dammit._

There wasn’t even anyone in the room to either deter or witness him.

Casually, Leon stepped in through the sliding double doors, glancing around quickly. The room was sealed off so no one could see in to watch what he was about to do, but there were cameras literally everywhere. Every angle was covered for the safety of the samples, every angle clearly recording his every move and action. He wasn't sure what his plan was – god, maybe if he just took it and got caught, he could be free – but the Plaga urged him to sneakily search and so he did. He moved over to the workers station first so he wasn't suspiciously rooting through the rooms contents, opening up the log book and doing a quick search. _LP-LW003._ He found what he was looking for far too quickly, STRATCOM's organization their downfall for once. Within thirty seconds he had a location for the specimen and while he had no idea what the hell was going on in the cluttered notes section of the log, it didn’t really matter to him. He didn’t need to make an excuse for the missing sample, he just needed to _get_ the sample without making it obvious. He had to keep an eye out for himself, after all.

 _Okay, there's a camera in front of me, and a camera in every corner to cover all available storage and surface area._ What the hell was he thinking? What the hell was _Krauser_ thinking? Leon had just waltzed down here without a plan, waltzed down here hoping to get caught, and here he was, closing the log book on autopilot, wondering if he was in control of his actions or if the Plaga was spurring him into action itself. What would happen if he fucked this up? Leon wasn’t sure what was worse, having his superiors come after him or having _Krauser._

Leon turned, moving over to the large storage cabinet with individual cubbyholes to store the samples. He pulled open the labeled door – the damn things weren’t even _locked_ – pressure hissing out with cold air. He gave it a second before he reached in and started to root through the vials, each of them labeled individually. _I'll just steal it on camera. It’s won’t be hard to get caught. God, would they even stop me from taking it? Would they just assume I’m delivering it somewhere else and let me go? God dammit._

His fingers touched LP-LW003, pulling it a millimeter out of its storage hole, when the doors beeped, sliding open to let someone else in. Leon jerked in surprise, the vial coming out with his hand, and he stealthily slid it inside the sleeve of his sweater as he turned around. It was smooth, he had always been smooth but this had been too damn smooth for his own liking. Maybe even smooth enough that the cameras had missed it. _Shit._

A woman in a lab coat entered the room, her brown eyes instantly on Leon. Doctor Rita was stern in a motherly way, but she liked Leon enough to not breathe down his neck whenever he had come by. She wore her hair the same way Annette Birkin had worn hers, and Leon wondered if that was why he had always felt slightly uncomfortable around her. Her voice, however, was much more friendly than Birkin’s had ever been. “Agent Kennedy! Can I help you?”

“Yeah I'm looking for something. Information on something.” Leon said automatically, trying to come up with a lie on the fly. _Shit, shit, shit._ He flashed her a grin before gesturing at the wall of vials, saying the first excuse that came to mind. “LP-LW003.”

 _Oh shit_. Leon had just blurted it out. He really did suck at lying. He casually shoved his hands into the pocket of Chris' sweater, transferring the vial into the pocket before he could stupidly waved his hands around too much and send the vial accidentally flying from his sleeve. His heart was suddenly in his throat, thoughts jumbling wildly, what the hell was he doing?

“Well if you're looking for an LP sample, you're in the right place.” Rita said, pointing at the cabinet Leon was rooting through with a waving finger. She moved over to the desk and glanced over to the log book as she sanitized her hands. “The Los Plagas really have your attention, don't they? I hope there's no new trouble.”

“You have no idea.” Leon said, chuckling nervously as he turned back to the cabinet, pretending to scan its contents. _Shit, shit, shit_. This was all on camera. It looked good, he thought. But he was pissed that he was getting away with it. He had the sample, he just needed to leave now.

He raised his hand again to touch the vials, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. His blood was _hot_ as he started to lie _._ “We're trying to take preventative measures so I’ve been looking into the different strains. Anything you can tell me about this one's mutations?”

“Number three?” Rita asked, slapping on some gloves. “We call it the Lone Wolf strain. It has a recessive gene that makes it neither dominant nor submissive. It's still considered a parasite because it will eventually devour the host, but if the conditions are perfect, it might be symbiotic.”

“What are the conditions?” Leon asked, turning around to really look at Rita, to watch her face as she explained. There was nothing like facial expressions to tell Leon the truth of what he was being told and he _needed_ to hear something positive right now. He was desperate for it, and the mention of it being _symbiotic_ reminded Leon of the Merchant and the hint that the man had been cohabit with his parasite all along. _I might have hope._

Rita sanitized her gloves again distractedly, shaking them out to dry. “Of course the conditions are extreme. The samples in here are all eggs still, but they still require a very large intake of nutrients to grow. Like most parasites, they drain the host slowly until they start to get bigger. At this stage, they're just as harmless as the other Plaga eggs, which I'm sure you're familiar with.”

Leon tried not to shudder, tried not to think about Spain.

“After the Plaga hatches and starts to grow, these ones don't attach to the host's nervous system like the others.” Rita said, her tone becoming more and more excited as she talked. “They're more interested in just sucking the host dry and living a lazy life. So, as long as the host is healthy and consuming enough nutrients to sustain itself and a parasite, the host can actually live quite some time before the Plaga becomes too big.”

“How big is too big?” Leon wondered out loud.

“Well. They don't stop growing.” Rita said. She turned to the log book, flipping it back open. “Our infected lab rat died when the Plaga was approximately twenty-percent of the host's size, which took nine months. But don't forget how small rats are. Eventually, the body just can't contain it. But a human or even a horse could potentially live a lot longer. We try to remain ethical, but Umbrella isn't ethical in their experimentation and we need to defend against that. We've infected a couple of larger animals with the LW strain, and regardless of the hosts size, the Plagas seem to grow at the same pace. It’s actually rather slow, which is good for us until Umbrella figures out how to speed up the growth process. The Plaga doesn't grow faster with an abundance of nutrients either, so as long as the host is at least doubling their nutritional intake, they'll live fine until the Plaga grows to be about twenty-percent of their species’ average mass. We're developing a method to extract the Plagas once they get too big, to save our animals. But so far, the Plaga hasn't bothered any of them, hasn't impacted their intelligence or mobility or aggression levels. We successfully removed a small one surgically because the animal became sickly, but another attempt failed. We’re still trying to figure out why.”

Leon hummed, eyes on the wall, staring blankly at all the numbers. _Is that why Wesker and Krauser want the sample? Are they using these Plaga’s as a base sample for something worse?_

“We've successfully bred these Plagas in the lab.” Rita said conversationally. “Gestation is similar to scorpions, the average being nine months depending on conditions. We've bred Plagas as early as three months and as late as eighteen. Each batch averages thirty babies, though in lab settings, the mothers usually eat their young which is also good for us because too many baby Plagas could pose a security problem because they can live outside of a host. Plagas bred inside a living host are more successful and stronger, but the babies kill the host upon hatching. We've only kept one batch for security purposes. They don’t mature until after several years, so we've got bets going on whether it will be three years or five. Our babies are turning three this year, so we have our fingers crossed they won't start showing signs of wanting to breed this early, for the sake of humanity.”

“That's...” Leon trailed off, making a face at the thought of multiple baby Plagas crawling around. He was going to have nightmares from that single image Rita conjured up, of millions of spider-sized Plagas squealing and slinky around in a glass testing cage before inevitably breaking out and scurrying away like a million little ants. His skin crawled at the thought, hairs rising.

“It's good news for mankind.” Rita said, unaware of Leon’s inner turmoil. “A particular environment and a long gestation period means fewer babies. Also most of the babies seem to be male in every batch we’ve disposed of. Two out of the forty-eight babies we let live were female, and one of those females died along with five males. So if Umbrella wants to breed Plagas to take over the world, they're going to have to sit and twiddle their thumbs, which we both know they suck at doing.”

Leon laughed because she wasn't wrong.

“Anyway.” Rita said, turning away from the log. “It says here that 003 was taken for testing earlier today, so it's not here anymore and likely won't be usable. Sorry to burst your bubble. Maybe I can get you a different sample instead?”

Leon perked at that, eyes sliding down to the log book. How the hell was that possible? Leon had the damn sample in his pocket right now. “Oh?”

“The log says it’s not a stable sample.” Rita said. “Maybe I can call you if it turns up?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help, and the information too. It’s good to know.” Leon said. He paused, glancing back over. “Hey. The other Plaga’s were controlled but the Dominant Species Plaga via sound waves. Is this one the same?”

Rita shrugged. “They communicate, but they all seem to do what they want. They don’t attach to the nervous system so I doubt they could control a human host the way the others can.”

“Oh. Great.”

He didn't flee the room, but he did leave as quickly as he could. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. He'd known Doctor Rita for some time already, knew the woman would both deliver _and_ he’d be able to leave behind another bread crumb, should he find himself severely compromised. “Hey, if you have any other information on this strain of Plaga, think you might want to send me an email? I’d love to go through it all. Actually, are there other strains too?”

“Of course.” Rita said with a wink. “You're our favorite field researcher, after all. I can send you links for everything we have if you want. I should have some down-time this afternoon.”

“Thanks.” Leon said before disappearing back into the hall, hands shoved into his sweater pocket. He shuddered out a breath as he quickly walked, his brain looping over the information he had just been overloaded with. _If the conditions are perfect, they can be symbiotic. They don’t attach to the nervous system, so they can’t control a host._

Something was weird. Something was wrong with Wesker and Krauser and this Plaga in Leon’s chest, and whatever was wrong might actually be in Leon’s favor for once.

Suddenly, Leon veered down another hall without really thinking twice about what he was doing. He didn’t care that he probably looked suspicious, but the sample was still in his pocket and while it needed to be delivered, he didn’t need to deliver it _right now_. The Plaga wasn’t too concerned about it if the lack of obsessive thoughts were anything to go by, so Leon felt he had time for a pit stop.

He was already stealing from his own company against his will. He might as well steal something that would help him in the long run, too.

Leon badged himself into another rooms, hoping his memory was leading him to the right place and that dry storage really was the place he wanted to be. He had a thought flit through the back of his mind telling him that on camera, it would look like Rita had sent him _here._ Like he was supposed to be here. Nothing suspicious. Regardless of that, should he still get caught for stealing the sample, the second they realized what he was stealing in _here_ , well. Someone might _figure it all out._ It was a win-win in his books.

The storage room was organized but crowded and once again, there wasn’t a single employee in the room.

In the back, Leon found a glass-door storage cabinet full of small white bottles the size of pill containers, each clearly labeled with their contents. Without hesitating, Leon scanned the bottles, moving them around so he could better see the labels, digging and searching, before pulling out two and looking over their stickers. They were both Plaga Growth Suppressors, but judging by the labels, one of them was much stronger than the other.

“Fuck.” Leon clicked his tongue before closing the cabinet doors. The labels hadn’t been explicit and he had no idea what dose he would need. He didn’t really want to kill himself in the process either. He had no idea what he had been given in Spain, had just blindly trusted Louis back then.

He went to the nearest desk and placed the bottles down, glancing over the huge stack of binders containing the paperwork for everything in the room. There were eight of them all labeled by general category, overflowing with paperwork. It took him a few minutes to find the binder he was looking for, and then it was just about finding the proper sheets to go with the pills. It took him another ten minutes, another ten minutes of nervously hoping he would be caught right there and then, when he finally realized which numbers the binders were organized by via the labels on the pills, and he managed to find the sheets after an obvious struggle.

He scanned the contents, frowning.

The bottle with the smallest potency had been designed for rats and there were only forty-nine pills left inside. Apparently the dose had been manufactured too high for lab use and had killed the first subject. He’d probably be able to slam back the entire bottle in one go and not feel a thing. The other bottle had been manufactured for an animal much larger clocking in at one-hundred kilograms, but had never been field tested before.

“Shit.” Leon sighed, a hand to his forehead. He rubbed at his face before deciding to just take _both_ bottles anyway and call it a day. He didn’t have time to debate what he was doing, didn’t have time to decide whether he wanted to risk it or not. He could deal with this later.

Leon shoved the bottles into his pocket before putting the paperwork all back where he had found it. He took a quick glance around to make sure everything was exactly the way it had been when he had arrived before he left, casually strutting back out into the hallway like he was supposed to be there.

He went back upstairs.

No one stopped him, and no one asked him about what he had in his pocket.

Back upstairs with shaky hands and a rapid heart rate, he flipped his laptop open before reaching for his coffee, cringing at the cold mouthful he took. _Shit, how long was I down there for?_

Guilty, he stowed the sample and the pills away in his backpack for later, glancing around nervously. Right now, he needed to delve into STRATCOM's files, searching for both new research and old on the Plagas and maybe even the Tyrants. The Tyrants had been programmed to respond to verbal orders, hadn’t they? And if Wesker had something to do with this special-hybrid Plaga in Leon’s chest, then he wasn’t going to overlook _anything._ He was simply searching for anything and everything that sounded like his personal _situation_ and going from there.

But the vial sat in the back of his mind, reminding him slowly and surely that he needed to deliver it straight into Krauser’s hands. And after a few hours of digging just to find nothing, after slamming back a second cold coffee, Leon decided that he might as well bite the bullet before someone here realized that something was amiss.

He packed up and he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad News? I won't be updating this work consistently anymore.
> 
> Good News? I've been writing shorter fun things, so there's still content coming for this series.
> 
> I recently made a Tumblr, which can be found [here](https://infiniteinmystery.tumblr.com/) if you feel like yelling at me.


End file.
